


Hunting

by Sivvus



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Betrayal, Chaos, Coming of Age, Complete, F/M, False Identity, Family, Finished, Hiding, Hunting, Leaving Home, Lies, Magic, Murder, Running Away, Storytelling, abadoned, curse, demon, fake name, kidnap, secret, storyteller - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarralyn cannot remember a time when she wasn’t hiding from the mysterious man who hunts her mother. Sick of living the life of a coward, she runs away and tries to find out the truth. She has no idea that for every step she takes to get closer to the truth, her own deadly curse is closing in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sarralyn

Today my mother slapped me. I had been pulling seeds from the long-grass on the verge, neatly whisking them from the stems and scattering them into the daisies. The slap was as sharp as it was unexpected; with her usual rapid fickleness, mama hit the chaff from my hand and left me glaring at the sting of it. 

“Idiot.” She has her own accent when she yells at me. Those who hear it say she sounds Gallan, although I would not know. I have never been there, despite my voice carrying some of the same softness. She trained me out of having any accent, I thought bitterly, just like she trained me out of everything else. Just like she trained me out of scattering grass seeds. 

“I don’t see why I can’t do it!” I would like to say I said that, although truthfully I must admit that’s a lie. I have a habit of whining. Mother’s eyes narrow: she knows as well as I do that I do know exactly why. She is in no mood to tell me again, but I want to hear it. Maybe, maybe this time, she’ll let another secret slip. As many times as I hear her story, I always feel like she’s lying, leaving out something that would change my knowing to understanding. 

She’s never told me, for example, why she is so frightened, so wary. She says she has always been so, but I don’t believe it. We aren’t born frightened. Her fear has no name, so I found a word for it once: haunted: The fear of a constant presence. When I asked her if it was the right word she corrected me, the first small slip of another story. The word, she said, was _hunted._ One small word, and a thousand new mysteries!

But... I am guilty of the same crime I accuse mama of. If I am to tell any story, I must be honest and not leave any secrets behind my words. Words are tricky like that; you can use the same words with different faces, and they will always break through foreign accents or the pitiful look of two ragged strangers on a doorstep. 

Mama and I often use such words- words like _sanctuary, help_ and _please_. We change how we look, and the tone of our voices, but we always use the same comforting words. Perhaps that is why I like words so much: they are always the same in my changing world. They belong to us in a way that nothing else does. 

Here are the words which are mine: my name: Sarralyn. My age: fifteen. Of course, I lie about both of them. But they are still true. Where I was born: Tortall. My mother’s real name: Veralidaine. I do not know my father’s name. I only know that he is the one who hunts us. 

These are the things I know about my father: he has the Gift. He hunts us by sight and sound and rumour, and he must be clever to follow that trail. But my mother is just as cunning, and runs from him with the same tools. While we are hiding in one town, a rumour will start in another nearby. Not close enough for our hiding place to be suspect, but close enough for us to see the hunters closing in. 

While they are distracted we slip away from our haven, leaving no debts or crimes behind us that the people might remember us with, and we watch the hunt. Sometimes the hunters are soldiers, sometimes you can see no-one at all, but they are always there. 

Mama makes us stop, every time, when we are safely away. She creeps away, and although I am forbidden to follow her I know where she goes. She watches the rumour-ridden town from a treetop or a hillside, silent and still, and when she returns to me her eyes are always red with tears. On those days her heart is full of anger. 

Pulling grass seeds from the trail on such a day is utterly forbidden. I don’t know what made me do it today; I like the softness of the downy seeds and the way they snow onto the summer soil. I don’t see how something so graceful can be so dangerous. But then... mama caught my arm and sharply pulled me to look back at the trail. 

“There!” She said, “Look, there. You leave a track that a blind badger could follow. Grasses all bent at your height, seeds stuck in your careless footprints...” she shook my arm for good measure and let me go, finishing with the words that always stung. “I didn’t raise a little idiot.”

“No mama.” I replied sullenly, suddenly sick of it all, “You raised a little coward, to hide and run away. Not an idiot.” 

She stared at me. I half expected her to slap me again, but it was an unnatural action for her even when she was angry. She opened her mouth and I rolled my eyes, waiting for another useless half-truth. I don’t know why I was so badly behaved. All I knew was that, in that moment, all my hatred for our spineless life was suddenly clear to her. All I could remember, my whole life, was running and lying. My mother’s anger was nothing compared to the dreariness of another day of it. 

“Is that what you think?” She asked, unusually quiet, “That... I’m running away?” 

“From father, yes!” I raised my head defiantly, seeing her flinch and thinking in my petulant pride that it was my tone which had affected her. “You’re a coward not to face him- to run away for fifteen whole years! You’re so scared of him that you won’t even tell me his name.” 

Now, how did this argument start from grass seeds? The chaff blew in the air and stuck to my cheeks, and I realised they were damp with tears. Mother paled at my words, and for a second I thought I had won. I thought she would finally tell me her secrets. But when she finally spoke, her voice was cold and distant. 

“I’m not scared of your father.” Was that a lie? A shadow always crossed her eyes when she spoke about him, although she wasn’t aware of it. This time was no different. I scoffed inwardly. But then... she carried on speaking, a tantalising clue which was utterly perplexing to me. “If he wasn’t so hag-damned _stubborn_ we could have a normal life. And if I _was_ a coward, Sarralyn, I would go back to him in an instant.” 

She looked away and took a deep breath, as if this curt statement had been choking her for years. My heart raced- she was going to tell me the truth! But her next words made me sick to my stomach. 

“If I did that, the first thing that would happen is that you would be killed. No running, no fighting, no arguing. Coward or not, you’d be dead before you could even see the colour of his hair.”

**Daine**

Sarralyn takes a step back, and I instantly wish I hadn’t told her. She’s been so angry lately, so stubborn, and in my heart I can’t blame her. I have a thousand reasons for keeping the truth from her. It’s safer, it’s easier for one person to lie than two, the truth hurts too much... The truth has teeth, and it bites me just as sharply now as it did when she was a baby. 

But how can I explain that to her? I’ve spent her lifetime teaching her to hide while I secretly hunt down the man who cursed us. But how can I tell her that? Telling her the truth would shove all that anger towards him, and turn her hatred into violence- and that I cannot allow. She’s just a child. 

Ah, but she is already older than I was when I first learned how to hate. I guess I’m overprotective. She is no more fragile than other children, but the curse runs in her veins like blood. I can’t tell her about that either. She would not believe me. Curses only happen in stories. I remember when she would listen to my stories with wide eyes, not knowing that the fairytales of dragons and gods that I told her are really the truth. Now she looks at me with narrowed eyes, and sees only her cowardly mother hiding from her father like a kitten from the rain. 

She doesn’t look anything like him. Every time we change our names I dye our hair a different shade with the spells the gypsy mages sell, but even when the cheap magic fades her hair stays the lighter colour she was born with. She is slight; even as a child it was clear that she would never be tall. But her eyes... her eyes haunt me. They’re just as dark as his, and when they glare at me I see his pain in their black depths. I never saw the hurt in his eyes when I left him, but my daughter tortures me with it in her anger. 

She glares at me again, the shock of my words turning into bitter accusations. She says the exact same words that I did, fifteen years ago. 

“You’re a liar!”

I try to calm her down- to explain... no. I try it in my mind and realise that it’s useless. I can’t make her understand without telling her everything, and there’s no time for that. We’re too close to the town, and if we don’t keep walking they could catch us up. Anyway, she is in no mood to listen. Her frantic outrage, like those black eyes, is another gift from her father. 

Maybe if I walk on, she will follow me. She will take her anger out on the grass seeds which started this, and she will be silent for days, and then things will return to normal. It’s happened before, too many times to count. 

Speechless against her hatred, I turn away. 

When I look back, she has gone. 

**Sarralyn**

And so I ran away. 

The phrase sounds so simple. One action, and gone! But in truth I slipped from the path on silent feet, as slowly as a snail, breathing as little as I dared. When I was far away enough that not even her cat-ears could hear me, well, then I ran. I jumped down rocks and forded streams and stumbled and slipped my way down the path, breathless and frightened. I ran in the one direction that I knew she could not follow: back to the village. 

Even so, I expected her to appear at any moment, to have tracked me by the birds who saw me pass. But nothing happened. I crashed through the last stream with drenched carelessness, skidding to a stop by the boulders which bordered the pool the creek eddied into, and watched the trail. Any moment now... a footstep, a glaring pair of grey eyes, and I would be in so much trouble!

Why did I run away? I suppose my head should be spinning with excuses, ready to tell mama when I was caught... but to be honest I can only remember one reason: I had to. I knew I would never find out what had really happened from her, or from listening to the rumours which trailed us like a flock of starlings. I had never stayed in one place for long enough to make a friend, let alone to trust someone enough to ask about the rumours. 

I was only fifteen. I had been told that often enough. But I had worked out two truths of my own: they were hunting for my mother, not for me, and they had no idea what I looked like. I could stay in a town which hunted for her as safely as a chick tucked under a hen’s wing. 

I said all of this to myself, and more, as I waited in heart-pounding silence behind that rock. The water I had disturbed slowly settled into peaceful whorls, and my tired lungs stopped panting and let me breathe evenly again. My thoughts seemed to smooth out with the world, and one of them made me laugh: Mama had trained me to run away, and so I had! She should be proud of me. 

I realised that I laughed out loud and clapped my hand over my mouth, and then it dawned on me that there was no reason to be silent. I didn’t need to hide anymore! I cannot tell you how that felt. If felt as if one of the boulders had dissolved into water and danced into the river, ready to explore the world from the beauty of the lakes and rivers. It felt as if I could do anything I wanted to do. 

Even so, it took a lot of effort to stop me from running back to Mama. My new freedom fought against the caution of a lifetime, and my mother’s words had unnerved me. Why would my father want to kill me? I had already decided she was lying, but it was a horrible story to make up. The idea that she was using it to disguise something even worse was terrifying. What if my father was waiting in the town? What if I was walking to my death?

I squared my shoulders stubbornly. My imagination had always been too strong. I decided I would be scared of real things, not random nightmares. With legs which only shook slightly, I walked into the town.


	2. Sarralyn

“Och, tell us another story, duck!” 

Merrian always spoke like that in the evenings. In the day she was in charge of the kitchen, giving out sharp orders and sharper insults when we were slow at our work. But in the evenings her voice changed, and she wheedled like a child for stories and songs. I had only been working for her for a few weeks, but already my tales were being repeated more than all the other maids’ put together. 

It was a large inn, where we worked, and although there were always still guests in the main hall in the evenings it was where we did our work, cleaning our pans with soft sand by the dregs of the fire. The storyteller was always given the lightest task to do, and some of the others already resented me for Merrian’s favouritism. I wanted to tell them it wouldn’t last, but they preferred to gossip behind their hands than talk to my face. Still, in the evenings they listened as avidly as the cook, and I loved watching the delight in their eyes when I told them the stories that were old and familiar to me, but new and surprising to them. 

They had been telling stories the night I arrived, still damp from the river and wild-eyed in my newfound freedom. They barely looked up when the door opened, caught up in the story, and to my surprise it was one that I knew, about a dragon who searched the mortal realms for a place to have her baby. The story, as my mother told it, always made me cry when I was little. The mother dragon dies at the end. The maid was complicating it, though, losing the emotion in a rambling, boring description of all the places where the dragon made her nest. By the time she got to the end it wouldn’t be a story at all, just a map. Forgetting that I was here to beg for a place to sleep, I interrupted their circle. 

“You’re telling it wrong!” I said clearly, making the speaking maid jump and glare at me. The others giggled, watching from the corners of their eyes as they went about their work. From the place nearest the fire, a woman in a smarter dress which was stained by flour met my eyes until I blushed and looked away. 

“Well, are you going to finish the story?” The smarter woman asked. When the maid opened her mouth she was scowled at. “Not you, Aimie. You.” 

I stared at her pointing hand, feeling too tall and exposed standing among all these sitting women. “Um,” I started, and then breathed out in relief when two of the nearest maids grudgingly moved to make space for me to sit. “Thank you,” I said, getting grunts in reply. Obviously this was not the time to be friendly. I took a deep breath, and started the story again from the beginning. 

Mynoss only knows what Merrian was thinking, offering me a job when the others left to go to their beds. If she hired everyone who told her a sad story, her kitchen would be very badly run. It was only later that I realised that the other guests who gathered around that late night fire also listened for the stories, returning night after night to laugh or cry or learn from the heroes that we talk about. Merrian made a good business selling them ale or still cider, and often charged them in the morning if they fell asleep in their chairs. 

But I didn’t know any of that when she offered me a job. All I could think of was my freedom, so quickly sold to this woman in return for simple food and a bed. It was a gift, and it was a cage, and even as I settled into the routine of the inn I chafed against its structured life. I was too used to walking through all weathers, and moving away every few weeks. By the third week I missed my old life keenly, but my anger at my lying mother still burned in my stomach. 

It’s lucky that I was hired because of my stories, because I had no other skills. Between my mother and I, we had worked at every menial task under the sun. We had shovelled straw in stables and sown seed in spring fields. We had chopped wood, cooked, and cleaned solars. But these tasks never lasted for more than a few weeks, and you cannot learn a trade in a fortnight. The only thing that I could learn was what my mother could teach me: I could hunt with a bow or a slingshot, read and write, and I remembered all the stories that she told me. Perhaps this is another reason why I like words so much. They’re the only thing my mother ever taught me which I could completely trust. 

Merrian begged me for another story, and because I had made the last one up from nothing I decided to repeat one of my old favourites instead of making up another. The other maids nodded as I recited the title, knowing their own versions of the tale from their own childhoods. They said there was something different about my stories. There were small details, which my mother had added, which made them seem so much more real than their own versions. In the shadows of the room around us, the guests shifted in their seats at the title. Some raised their heads to listen more clearly, others rolled their eyes and returned to their own tasks at the tired old yarn. 

I took a deep breath, and began. “In the beautiful golden city of Carthak, there were two gilded rooms. One was filled with life: beautiful birds, who sang wonderful songs each morning which put the court musicians to shame. The other was filled with death: vast skeletons which creaked each evening like the hag’s knees.” 

There was a laugh at that. The words were well known- everyone starts the story like that. I carried on, slipping into my mother’s lilting simplicity without thinking about it. The laughter quietened as I spoke and all eyes looked distant, as if they were seeing the things I described in the air before them. 

All eyes, that is, except the sharply gazing pair from the far end of the hall. In this dreaming world they felt rude, like a dash of cold water on a sleeper’s pillow. I was not used to people staring at me, and I blushed and looked away. Even looking away I could feel those eyes, watching me as I shaped my words into stories. Under their intense scrutiny I could not concentrate; I stammered and hesitated, and the spell was broken. Before the others could laugh or Merrian demand what was wrong, I excused myself and hid away in my room, locking the door. I only opened it again when my roommate returned after someone else had finished the story, and by then hiding away seemed quite silly. She didn’t ask me why I’d left; she just pulled a face at how much of the candle I’d burned that evening, and flung herself into her bed. 

The next morning I looked for the man who had stared at me, but didn’t see him anywhere. I didn’t even know if I would recognise him. The shadows had hidden him, and all I could really remember was the firelight shining from those unsettling eyes. Merrian was sharp with me all day, sending me on extra chores and criticising the smallest mistakes in her loud nasal voice, and by evening I was so worn out that I could barely keep my eyes open. One of the other maids told a story, and I did not look around to see if the eyes were watching her, too. 

I didn’t look around on the third day, either. I told a simple story about a girl who outwitted a chicken-poaching fox, and then let one of the others speak. When I moved to sit further away from the fire, I looked up and, like a bolt of lightning, saw those eyes again. 

Now that I could look back without stumbling over a story, I studied the watcher. He looked away almost as rapidly as I had, watching the new storyteller with absolute concentration. I studied my pot with equal focus, not even glancing up at Juna as she stumbled through a bawdy tale about Mithros and a water sprite. But this time my bowed head wasn’t because of cowardice; in the polished metal of the soup pot I was cleaning, I could study the man without him realising. 

His reflection was warped in the curve of the basin, but I could see that he was thin, wrapped in a long cloak against the early autumn chill. He sat far away enough from the fire that I couldn’t make out his colouring, but in the silvery reflection his hair was a dark shadow, shaped with greying streaks that betrayed his age. His eyes were dark pools which the basin warped and duplicated, and I shivered. I didn’t like people staring at all. He could be a perfectly nice person, but his stare sent chills down my spine. I blinked at the eyes in the reflection, and they blinked back. 

I’d been trying to outstare my own eyes. The ludicrous relief of it made me laugh, and I had to hide the sound with a cough. Juna glanced at me with narrowed eyes, as if I’d interrupted her on purpose. That night I slept more easily. Once again, my imagination had made something normal into something sinister. 

The next evening, Merrian beckoned me over before she called the other maids, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders confidingly. I fought the urge to shrug it off; I wasn’t used to people touching me, and the woman smelled like goose fat. 

“Do you remember the story about the dragon?” She asked me quietly. I blinked and nodded. Usually when she wanted me to repeat a story, she simply became more coaxing. But her voice was almost serious when she carried on, “Someone has asked that you tell it, if you know it. He paid well, so tell it well, child.” 

“I’m not a child,” I said automatically, my mind stupid with whirling thoughts. It had to be the staring man. He didn’t look particularly rich, and certainly not the sort of person to spend coin on something as fleeting as a story. Still, if my life had taught me anything it was that people come in all disguises.

This was my challenge, then. He was throwing down the gauntlet. 

I took my seat, thinking rapidly over the story so I wouldn’t stumble over some crucial moment, and started speaking. When everyone was settled in their tasks and oblivious in their daydreams, I raised my head and met those eyes, unflinching. Let the cowards look away. I stared back with my head raised defiantly and told the story as if I was a soldier marching into battle. When I reached the end of the story I barely heard Merrian blowing her nose and sobbing over the dragon’s death. All my attention was fixed on the staring man, waiting to see what he would do. 

He nodded once, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes but not reaching his mouth. I bowed my head back, feeling strangely victorious in this battle that only I knew I was fighting, and when I looked up he’d pushed his chair back and left. 

888

The next day was my half-day, and I left the inn in the early morning with a strange feeling in my stomach, like butterflies were fluttering around the soft white bread I’d eaten for breakfast. I don’t know if I was nervous or excited, or if I even expected anything to happen at all. It was the first free time I’d had since I’d started working, and in my impetuous way I decided that, if the gods wanted something to happen in my life, it was going to happen while I was on holiday. 

I wandered aimlessly through the town, watching the market vendors setting up their stalls and the field hands trudging downhill to the fertile pastures. They would be back at noon to swarm around the merchants like flies, buying small pies and bannock bread for their lunch, but in the morning the streets had only a few women idling among the wares, and myself. 

My eye was caught by a flash of colour. One of the tables was full of spun wool, wound onto wooden shuttles and dyed the simple colours of the berries and flowers that grew locally. Above them, tied securely to the canopy pole, a few precious silk ribbons shone in the morning sun. Their bright hues shamed the wool, and they danced so merrily in the wind that I wished I could have one. I caught a blue-green one and stared at it ruefully, wondering how many of my salary coppers it would take to buy it. 

“Do you like ribbons?” The voice was soft but direct, and without even looking I knew it was the staring man. The wool merchant had been about to yell at me for touching the delicate cloth with my work-roughened hands, but when the staring man addressed me his lopsided face settled into a sycophantic smile. 

“I’ll give you a special price, for a pretty lady.” He started, and stopped when the staring man waved a dismissive hand. He was obviously waiting for me to speak, but my throat had gone dry. Here in the street he seemed much taller, and his eyes were no less unsettling in the daylight. I settled for a shrug instead, swallowing rapidly. 

“No,” I managed, wincing at the croak of my voice. The staring man looked down at me and smiled like he had the night before- with his eyes, not his mouth. 

“Liar,” he said easily, shrugging off the merchant’s haggling monologue and offering me his arm. I stared at it, completely bewildered, until he sighed and patiently explained, “I want to talk to you, that’s all. Will you walk with me?” Again, the patient voice... but there was a vein of iron in it. I guessed that saying no would be a bad idea.

I can still run, I thought frantically, knowing even then that I wouldn’t dare. This man could be anyone- a soldier, a mage, a spy. But somehow he didn’t seem dangerous; he’d watched me for days without even speaking to me. If he was one of my father’s hunters, he’d surely have attacked me as soon as he saw me. No, this man wasn’t a threat, he was a mystery. And I was as curious about him as he was about me. In a world full of dreaming strangers, we’d somehow managed to single each other out as enigmas to be solved. 

But there, I was thinking like a story again... and I swore this story would be honest. I can admit that he frightened me. He was a grown man, at least in his forties, and as much as I protested against it I was little more than a child. He waited patiently for me to make a decision. 

I swallowed again and took his arm, hardly reassured when he smiled again. 

The sleeve of his tunic was smooth under my hand- a rugged material, but well tailored and finely stitched. It was a bland nothing-colour between brown and grey, and fitted to be comfortable, not smart. The part of me that lived in disguise marvelled at another liar’s costume. Such a tunic would blend into common inns like mine with the same ease that it would be admitted into a lord’s halls. I was too suspicious to think it was just a coincidence; this man was as much of a sneak as I was. In my admiration of his apparel I hadn’t looked up at his face, and when I did he was staring back at me with the same emotionless intensity he had when I told stories. I shivered and looked away. 

“Are we through examining each other?” I asked tartly, still not looking up. When he answered his voice sounded surprised.   
“How else are we to know about each other?” 

I laughed. “Well, we could talk, I suppose.” 

He smiled, this time properly. The twist of his mouth looked slightly rueful. I realised I shared the same expression. He had recognised my nature as I had recognised his, and lying to each other would only confirm it. It was more fun not knowing.   
This is how our conversation went:

First, we introduced ourselves. He said his name was Marke (a lie), that he was a spice trader (another lie), and that he was searching for a new household after his past servants had all eloped with each other (yet again, a lie, but so ridiculous that I was honestly impressed he got through it without cracking a smile.) Since he already knew the name I’d given myself at Merrian’s inn, there was no need for me to make up a new story, but I repeated the name with good grace and he bowed over my hand at this mockery of an introduction. 

“Lilith,” he said formally, and then released my hand. “Are you still afraid of me?” 

“Afraid?” I raised my head and glared at him, mentally telling the coward voice to stop cringing in the corner of my mind. “Why would I be afraid?” 

He shrugged. “I always get nervous around strangers. They can be... strange. But I hope you're not afraid of me now that we know each other a little better. Are we done with lying to each other?” 

“Depends what we still have to talk about,” I replied too quickly. I had watched Mama lie her way through conversations much more complicated than this one; why was I so clumsy? She would be rolling her eyes at me if she was here. The thought made the familiar anger rise up, and before I could crush it I knew it was written across my face. When I looked up again he was studying me, not with the same intentness as before but with a level challenge in his eyes. 

“We will each ask one question,” he said evenly, “And we must each answer honestly.”

I planted my hands on my hips, tilting my head in a challenge. “And why would I want an honest answer from a stranger, pray?” 

He grinned, “Secrets are always worth something. If I read you correctly, I think you know that already.”

I looked away, and mentally shrugged. One question couldn’t hurt me; if it was something dangerous I could lie anyway and he wouldn’t be able to tell. And even if he had truth detecting spells, he couldn’t force me to tell him one word of the truth. Whoever this man was, he was right: any secret is worth knowing. I met his eyes again, and nodded. 

He asked me: “In your story last night, you said the baby dragon had a name given to it by its mother. What was the name, and who told you it?”

What a strange question! But I breathed a great sigh of relief at the stupidity of it. If this was what he thought was a valuable secret, he really wasn’t dangerous at all. I answered easily, “Her name was Skysong, and it’s just the name that came with the story. I can’t remember who told me it, I was a baby.” 

He narrowed his eyes as if he knew I was evading the truth, but didn’t press me for more answers. My question to him was more straightforward. 

I asked him: “What’s your real name?”

He answered: “Numair.”


	3. Daine

Am I glad she's gone? I dream about her and wake up with my cheeks wet with guilty tears, but during the day the guilt fades away. I worry about her, but deep down I know she can look after herself. It's just hard to convince myself of that. It's hard not to imagine her as a child, lost and alone. I think: it's for the best. It's a new chance. We both needed something to happen, and it has.

I sometimes think I'm going mad. It doesn't seem like fifteen years, and I don't feel any different than I did back then. It's as if, one day, I blinked and opened my eyes to find the world had moved on without me. And the world has changed. The war ended years ago. For months after that final battle I waited with my heart racing, hoping against hope that it also meant the end of my exile. We were cursed for a reason, and when the war ended that reason no longer existed. And yet, the curse lived on. I could see it, murky in our veins, blazing whenever Numair was too close.

Sarralyn never understood how I knew that he was nearby. As a child she trusted me, but when she got older she started hurling her words against me. Paranoid, frightened, coward. She doesn't know how many of her own fears are false. I raised her to fear her father, because it was the only way to be sure she would be safe.

The longest time we ever spent in one place was three months. We were far in the north, and the snows were settling into the passes. As the weeks drifted by I started to hope. Maybe, maybe this time he'd given up. Maybe he had stopped looking for us, and he would have a normal life again. Sarralyn and I could settle down, and stay in one place. She could make friends with children her own age, the seven and eight year olds who sledded down the drifts on rough planks of wood. I watched her playing with them, and imagined a life where she wouldn't have to hide any more. But then my thoughts turned against me, and I began to have nightmares. While Numair was following me, at least I knew he was safe. At least I knew he was alive. He could have been trapped in a snowstorm, or he could be ill. Something twisted in my heart, and the thoughts continued: why should he keep looking? He could have found someone else. He could have other children, a mistress to make up for his runaway wife. While he was following me, at least I knew that he still loved me.

Sarralyn came home that day to find me curled up in the corner, awash with tears. The room we were renting was tiny, barely more than a fireplace and a bed which we shared, and she stood helplessly beside me in innocent bewilderment.

"Mama," she said, her words still carefully shaped in the way young children speak, "Mama, what's wrong?"

I couldn't tell her. If ever I wanted to tell her the truth, it was on that day. But I couldn't. She looked at me with such clear eyes, already clever beyond her years, and I loved her too much to hurt her like that. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and nuzzled against my cheek, almost crying herself in her confusion.

"Mama, don't be sad," she said, when I still sobbed uncontrollably. "Don't cry, mama. What's wrong?"

I tried to choke the words out, to explain. "Your father..." I started, and then stopped at the expression on her face. Her sweet eyes narrowed in anger. She heard 'father' as someone to be feared and hated, not as someone to cry for. Had I done that?

"Don't cry, mama," she said with more strength in her lilting voice. "I won't let him hurt you, never-ever-ever, mama. He'll never find us."

I hugged her back and stopped crying, and the next week when the link started glowing again, I returned us to our nomad life with relief. He was still looking. He still loved me. Perhaps it was selfish to still want that, but in my heart I was glad.

He started searching for us more systematically after the war. When I first ran away he looked for us frantically, desperately. It must have terrified him, that we could not be seen through scrying or with the sight, or found by using a focus. He only knew that we were alive, and that we were gone. He would have thought in the words of war: kidnapped, hurt, enslaved. It would have been months, years even, before he would believe that I left on my own two feet. In those first years I honestly think he would have found us, if he had realised that we were hiding rather than trapped. But he searched with the riders and with our friends, looking for enemies who were strong enough to hold me. They looked for the blaze of the gift and strong prison walls, while we hid in stables and hedgerows. By the time they thought to look there, I was more skilled at hiding, and I could outsmart them.

I look under my skin, and see the dark purple lurking among the copper. The curse creeps through my magic like a snake, twining around my core and hiding me from the world. That was the great skill behind the curse; a secret magic which hides itself from all other mages. A thin cord darts from my heart, stretching across the miles, and I know the other end is linked to Numair. It always makes me feel closer to him, knowing that we are always linked, although he cannot see it. If he could see it, he would understand. He would stop tracking me. But the only other person who can see this spell is the man who cast it on us. That is the other thing the curse tells me: the mage is still alive.

And while he is alive, I will hunt him down.

I stretch my hands towards the sky, feeling strangely light. Now that Sarralyn has gone, it is almost too easy to hide. Two people will argue, or chat, or discuss where to build a fire, while a lone person can live silently and safely. I don't have to worry anymore about leaving her sleeping by the fire, while I sneak off to hunt the trails for the mage's scent. He is always nearby, always a few miles ahead, and he hides with the skill of a snake. For years he and I have watched each other, wary with mutual hatred, and we have been at a stalemate. Now Sarralyn has gone, and I can confront him.

 

Numair

She is still scared of me. She watches me from the corner of her eyes, always tense, even when she is lost in one of her stories. She doesn't know who I am; she didn't react at all when I told her my name. The others listen to her stories as if they're great mysteries to be solved, not realising that the girl who tells them is a mystery herself. Her name, her age, even the way she speaks... they're all an act. I can see the faint glimmer of hedge magic in her hair, shading it a strange russet colour, just as I can see the wary way she glances at the door every time a stranger walks in. I know she's not who she says she is.

She is alone here, that much is clear. I spoke to the woman who owns this inn, asking casual questions behind the glitter of coin. I have plenty of money, and she knows it. When I rented my room here, I told her my business in the town. It is always best to make sure someone knows it, or else what I do can look quite suspicious! I drift from town to town, speaking to the local guards and helping them to find people who have escaped the law. It's not too exciting- mostly asking questions from the disguise of a nosy stranger, or using my gift to hunt down hiding bandits. Sometimes I am sent to towns with a detachment of soldiers or riders, hunting down murderers who have killed to escape from justice. But usually I am alone, which I prefer. Alone, I can ask my own questions.

Jon was shocked when I volunteered for the job, expecting one of the dour academy mages to volunteer. He said I would be wasted in such a task. But in truth it makes me happy. I like trying to outwit the clever criminals who set traps, and I like having the freedom to drift from town to town without reporting to the king. I told him, I don't want to rot alone in a peaceful castle when I can be out there, helping people. He heard the truth: I refuse to give up.

The innkeeper glances at the girl- Lilith- across the circle of women. My casual questions made her suspicious, and I wonder if she's going to demand that Lilith tell her the truth. Maybe she thinks she's one of the criminals I hunt, although I doubt it. Lilith is too good a liar to look suspicious. But if she starts accusing her, then Lilith might well run away. She has the wide-eyed look of a runaway: the deliberate, defiant way of looking at the world as if it can be made less frightening by sheer bravado.

I'd been staying at the inn for a few days before I noticed Lilith. She was just one of the many kitchen maids, who flocked about the place like sparrows and chattered in the hallways. I knew they told stories in the evenings and so deliberately avoided the hall. It's strange to hear your own life being reduced to a whimsical tale. But I couldn't sleep that night, and my room was cold with the first bitter chill of autumn, so I gritted my teeth and trudged down the frozen hallways towards that tempting fire. Most of the seats were already taken by men and women who leaned forward, rapt, to listen to the skinny girl who moved her hands in the air as she spoke. I didn't mean to listen, but a few words caught my attention. It wasn't the way she spoke, or the story itself, but the names she was using. I had heard the same stories told before by people who made up their own names for Daine's animals, or just called them by their species. This skinny girl named them all with perfect accuracy.

I looked up, shocked into listening to her as she kept speaking. She recited as if she was telling a simple folk story, but every single word was completely true. She knew things that no-one else would even guess at. She described the rooms of Carthak like a mirror reflecting the actual stones.

How could she know these things? For the first time in years I felt a genuine surge of hope as I stared at her. She must have spoken to Daine. They must have been here, not in the town nearby where people were still whispering about them. They must have stayed at this very inn, and told their stories to this girl, knowing that to her they would just be stories.

The girl looked up and faltered, meeting my gaze with eyes that were as black as my own, and in a heartbeat I knew the truth. She hadn't been told the stories by a passing stranger, she'd been told them by her mother. I gripped the arms of my chair, forcing myself not to jump up and scare her. Did she already know who I was? She stopped her story halfway through, still looking at me with something close to terror, and left the room. I had to stop myself from following her, recognising the trapped look of someone ready to flee. Instead, I questioned the innkeeper about her.

She was here alone. That was the first thing my frantic mind retained: Daine wasn't with her. They couldn't remember another woman being here, the new maid had just turned up on her own and started working the next morning. A twinge of doubt, and I was suddenly unsure again. A story is easily remembered, and black eyes aren't as rare as some people believe. I half expected her to have fled in the night, but she was there the next morning with her chin raised stubbornly against whatever fear had chased her away the night before. Before she could see me, I left the inn and went about my day's work.

If the girl truly was Sarralyn, then why was she alone? Daine would never abandon her- or, at least, I amended, the Daine I knew would never do that. I resolved to watch her, to decide one way or another.

The next time she told a story, it was a children's tale and frustratingly banal. I couldn't decide on such evidence! So I collared the innkeeper and paid her more than a week's worth of rent to get her to recite another story. I listed a few I knew, thinking that if Daine had told the girl these stories she would know all of them, and if she didn't then I was obviously mistaken.

She told the story perfectly, and I couldn't help smiling. She recited with defiant brilliance. The next day, I spoke to her for the first time, and tested her stories again. If she had made up the names, perhaps she would change them this second time. She didn't, and I knew it was her. After years of searching, I had found my daughter in the least likely place I could expect.

I told her my name, and she didn't know me. I decided then not to tell her who I really was. She'd been running away from me her whole life, and the stark flashes of fear that lit up her eyes proved that she was poised to run again at the slightest threat. And yet... there was something else there, that stubbornness which had made her take my arm in the marketplace. I had no doubt that she had run away from Daine, and I wondered where she was planning to run to. From the way she looked at the other maids, it was clear she detested working there.

After that first conversation, I thought that it would be easier to talk to her. I was wrong; I always seemed to say the wrong thing! Although we settled into a wary truce, I was constantly afraid that something I said would make her disappear again. It was so strange. She was my daughter, and yet I hardly knew her. Every word we exchanged was a lie. I bought her the blue ribbon she'd been gazing hungrily at in the market, and she refused to take it from me. She would shyly avoided speaking to me in the inn, but then raise her head to meet my eyes with contrary courage.

She didn't know that it was me that she had spent her life hiding from, and I had no idea why she was hiding in the first place. There have been precious few clues in the years since Daine disappeared, and all of them as confusing as each other! It stood to reason that, now that Sarralyn had appeared, she wouldn't even tell me her real name. I knew she would never tell me anything about her life, or her mother, if she didn't trust me. I finished my work in the town as quickly as I could, and then realised that I'd have to leave sooner because of it. There was no way I was going to leave Sarralyn here, alone. I had to think of a way to bring her home.


	4. Sarralyn

It was a job offer: Numair had a friend in Corus who was after a storyteller, and he thought I should take the job. It seemed too convenient, even to my naive ears. We were no longer strangers; we had spoken many times over the past few days, but the idea of travelling with him as far as the capital scared me. He had found out that a merchant was setting out soon, taking a shipment of dye into the city, and asked if I would join them on the journey.

I asked him why before the coward in me could blurt out, no! Still, I think he heard the refusal that lurked in the word, and he raised an eyebrow. I thought he was going to recite a list of reasons, and braced myself to argue.

"Well, have you ever been there?" He asked instead, surprising me. I shook my head and smiled despite myself. No, I'd never been there. I'd never even been close; Mama avoided the capital city like it was pox-ridden. I supposed that people there would know her. After all, she lived there before I was born. It was one of the few things I knew about her life before I arrived in it. When I was a child, I used to daydream about what the city would be like.

I imagined a house, set neatly in a busy street. The pavement would be full of people, but instead of searching their faces for the danger of recognition, my mother would smile and greet them. I imagined moss-painted thatching on the roof, and a chimney who never wanted for warmth, even in the poor dregs of winter. I imagined a cat, stretched out by a fire, and a comfortable chair which belonged to my mother and wasn't rented from some landlord. I imagined how the house would look, decorated with years of familiarity. I imagined what it must have been like, to be able to look from the window and see the comforting walls of the castle embracing the town. When I could see the house clearly in my mind, I imagined Mama living in it. I never imagined myself living with her, though. If I did that I'd have to imagine my father too, and I hated even the idea of him spoiling my favourite dream.

Still, as I grew older, the daydream grew with me. Because Mama never spoke about her life, my imagination could run wild. I started wishing to see the real city, to walk its streets and try to guess which one was my mother's home, once upon a time. I suppose all children dream about the great cities, but my dream was mixed up with my innocent yearning for home. I pleaded with Mama to take me there, to show me where she was once safe. She turned her face away and refused, with her voice as final as the slamming of a door.

Finally, here was a way for me to see the city. And I still refused. It was such an automatic reaction that I blinked after I said it, wondering if I'd even spoken the rapid word out loud. Numair sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his face settling into the closed-off expression that was impossible to read.

"Are you going to go home, then?" He demanded. The directness of the question made me jump. He read my expression correctly and rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look so confused. It's obvious you've run away. Even your landlady has worked it out. How old did you tell them you are? They know you're lying."

"No, I'm..." I started, and then stopped at the warning expression in his eyes. I stared at the floor instead. "I'm not going back."

"Fine, then we leave tomorrow morning." He said briskly, and walked away. He did that a lot- walked away from a conversation, I mean. Perhaps he didn't want to give me time to think of another argument. And, as much as I tried that night, I couldn't find an excuse to not go. It was a wonderful chance, even if I had been offered it under slightly dubious circumstances. The next morning found me with my bag packed, waiting at the crossroads for the carts to start trundling past. When Numair saw me there, waiting, his face lit up with a grin. I smiled back and fell into step beside him, suddenly glad I'd made the right choice.

It was a slow journey. The carts were pulled by oxen, not horses, and all the travellers walked beside them at an ambling pace. It was a new experience to walk so slowly! I wondered why Numair chose to travel with these people, rather than keeping a horse. He could easily afford it; I'd secretly overheard from the gossips in Merrian's kitchen that he worked for the king. But he seemed quite content to trudge along in the wake of the carts, balancing on the clay edges of the wheel tracks and jumping over puddles. I found out later that he did own a horse, which he had sold in the town before we left. Perhaps he was just eccentric like that. After all, who truly likes wading through mud?

He laughed a lot more than I thought he would, too. In the town he had seemed distant and cold. I supposed that was part of his job. He acted as the law, after all, the king's hand of justice, Merrian said. If people thought that he was human, perhaps they would try to bribe him or plead with him. Or maybe he was serious because his work was equally bleak. I couldn't imagine a life of hunting down and convicting criminals, seeing murders following rapes and thefts and pointless arguments for years and years. I knew I could never do it. It wasn't so much the crimes that would drive me mad, but the way that, no matter how many times I caught the killer, there would always be another monster waiting in the next town.

At least he worked for the king. If he was a mercenary, he could be hired by one of my own hunters. He could become a threat, and I realised that I wouldn't be able to escape from him. I studied him secretly, seeing the casual way he saw the tiniest tracks when we were hunting, and the silent ease with which he walked through the forest. I wasn't surprised he worked for the king; even mother would have trouble hiding from this hunter. But when I realised this, strangely, I wasn't as wary of him anymore. The lies and the mysteries that had cloaked him in the town suddenly made sense, and because I understood why they were there, I was no longer frightened.

Here, in the open air, he was almost a different person. If a stranger had seen our caravan, he would be hard pressed to work out which man was a merchant and which one was Numair. After a few days, I realised the one who really didn't fit in was myself. The others had completely relaxed in each other's company while I was still reserved and suspicious. I made an effort to relax, and to my surprise found that letting my guard down was fun. The travellers welcomed me into their groups with welcoming arms, and after a few more days of the slow journey they felt like a family.

In the evenings, I would tell stories to the other travellers. Numair would listen, lying near the fire with his hands linked under his head, gazing up at the stars as if they were sharing in the tales. I watched him as I spoke, seeing the strange smile that only played across his features when he thought no-one could see it. After a week I realised that the smile meant something to me; I told my stories as beautifully as I could, wanting him to be proud of them. It was a new feeling for me. For my whole life, no-one had ever been proud of what I could do. There was only mother, and with her there was no proud, there was only right and safe and wrong and dangerous. Oh, she would smile approvingly at me if we carried off a disguise well, or if we managed to leave a town without being spotted, but stories were different. Mama always seemed to tell stories so seriously, and was cross if I made a mistake in name or place.

Numair wasn't like that. He listened, and smiled, and teased me about the sillier stories I told. He only criticised me once, and it was so unexpected that it was like a fist crushing my heart. I choked back the story as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. I'd just recited the title- The Path Through the Divine Realms, and he sat up abruptly.

"No, not that one." He said, his voice sharp. When the merchants glanced at him, he shrugged. It did nothing to dispel the black mood he seemed to be in, but his reason seemed normal enough, "I've heard it too many times. Tell something else."

I blinked, feeling like I'd just been scolded. When the other merchants looked at me, confused, I shrugged and gestured that one of them should tell a story instead. Why should I care what the staring man thought? But he wasn't the staring man any more, I realised. He was a friend, and I'd made him angry. The story turned to ash in my mouth, and I turned away to fight back unwelcome tears.

He caught up with me the next day, when I was walking at the head of the caravan to avoid him. In the fine tradition of teenagers everywhere I was sulking, which was a habit I'd refined to an art around Mama. I glared at him with the skill of long practice. He didn't take the hint. Idiot.

"Why are you so upset?" He asked, instead of leaving like a normal person would. "It's just a story."

I walked faster, wondering if he could still ask annoying questions if he was out of breath. He kept pace easily, and I swore under my breath. Anyone would think he'd spent his life hiking across Scanra. Mind you, I imagine that his criminals run quite fast.

"It matters." I said. "You didn't have to be so... so nasty about it."

"I didn't realise that I was," he looked nonplussed for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just don't like hearing some stories, that's all."

"Then just don't listen." I retorted rudely. "Don't listen, and don't stare at me, and don't talk to me. Mind your own hag-damned business, and let me tell any story I like. They're not your stories, and I'll tell whatever I damn well please."

His eyes narrowed, and I suddenly realised how petty and mean I'd just sounded. I opened my mouth to apologise, but he cut in first. Each of his words could have formed icicles in the autumn air.

"Fine." He said, "Have it your way."

I tried to apologise again, but he walked away from me to the back of the line. The other travellers raised their eyebrows at our argument, but didn't say anything. Goddess only knows what they thought of these strangers who walked with them, but whatever they thought they weren't going to get involved.

And so Numair stayed with the men at one end of the chain, and I stayed with the women who sat up in the carts preparing food while we travelled. The swaying of the carts made me feel ill for a few days, making my mood even worse, and I decided that it was all Numair's fault. Well, I certainly wasn't going to be the one to apologise! I shelled peas and kneaded sour dough, and laughed too loudly and brightly just to prove what a good time I was having now I wasn't being annoyed by him.

I honestly think things would have carried on like this until we reached the city, if it hadn't been for the snakes.

I should explain about the snakes. The Immortals War happened before I was born, but that didn't mean for a second that they all disappeared when their leaders were defeated. Most of the immortals weren't even interested in the allegiance to... well, to whoever they answered to, I guess. They had queens and kings of their own, and leaders, and maybe sometimes they would fight together, but like any creature they really just wanted to live their lives.

That would be fine if they were like us. Human, I mean. But they weren't. Some of them lived off the taste of fear, and some of them were so full of hatred that there was nothing left in their minds but red rage. They didn't want to go to work, earn a living and come home to a cup of warm milk in the evenings, is what I'm trying to say. And, even though the war was ended, they were still hungry.

Mama and I spent a lot of time living in the wild, especially in the summer. We used to find caves with fresh water and shelter, and stay in them for a few weeks, just being ourselves. I know that sounds odd, but if you spend your whole life making up stories about who you are, it's important to make sure you have a break from it, or you might start believing your own stories. Problem was, the immortals lurked in caves as well. Mother could always tell when they were there, and when we should step silently so they couldn't hear us. She said it was part of her magic, although I never saw her use the gift. But sometimes we weren't quiet enough, and they would attack us. By the time I was ten I'd probably shot and killed every species of hostile immortal in Tortall.

But I was talking about snakes, and I got sidetracked... so, these snakes were nasty customers. Like a lot of the immortals, they looked like someone had taken a normal animal and looked at it through warped glass. They were slightly too large, and like all immortals they had silver fangs. Of course, if you could see those fangs and the snake was still alive, you were in trouble! The snakes spat poison, you see. They would spit into your eyes, and for a few moments you would think you were perfectly fine. The poison would sting, but not burn. Well, not at first.

Then, slowly, it would enter your blood. Your fingers and toes would go numb, and then your hands, and your feet... like you were turning into stone. Try as you might, you couldn't move, you could just feel the coldness seeping up your arms and legs, and then, then your eyes would start stinging unbearably. Trapped inside a blind, frozen shell of skin, all you could do was wait in terror for the snake to strike and hope like hell that someone else had killed it.

The poison takes two days to wear off. That was the thing I used to have nightmares about: you see, the snakes didn't always strike. Sometimes they would leave you, helpless and alone, screaming inside. Any passing predator could pick you off. I would have nightmares where I was trapped in the echoing dark, expecting claws and teeth at any moment, struggling to make even my little finger move. Thankfully, the snakes were quite rare. They tended to live in rocky areas, and although they moved silently they were surprisingly slow. And the last thing about the snakes is that they have very weak eyesight. They feel the vibrations of your footsteps, and track you down silently at night and in the dark. The worst places to be were in enclosed areas, with lots of cracks and rockfalls for them to hide in.

Well, guess where we camped on the third night after our argument? Yes, that's right. The axle on the largest cart caught on a sharp boulder, and broke with a sickening crack. It would take all night to fashion a new one. Unsafe valley or not, we had to stop there. And... well, don't think of the merchants too harshly. I'm being unkind. If we stopped in a forest, then maybe spidren would have descended. In hindsight it was an awful idea to stop there, but at the time I was just glad for an early night's sleep!

Not that sleep was going to happen. After I lay down in my bedroll I tossed and turned, a headache starting behind my eyes and pounding in my ears. Have you ever dived under deep water? Down there, staring up at the light dancing on the surface, it's as if everything slows down. All the sounds are different, and deeper, and you can't tell where they're coming from. Every time I tried to sleep that night, my ears throbbed with nightmares. It was as if voices were speaking on the surface of water. I couldn't understand a word they were saying, and I had no idea who they were, but they kept me awake. After a while I gave up, sighing in frustration. Everyone else was asleep, and the fire had almost burned down to nothing. More bored than tired now, I stared at the embers.

A soft noise disturbed me. I looked around, wondering if a fox or badger had wandered into our camp. My eyes widened when I saw the shadow of someone getting up from their blankets and leaving the safety of the camp. A tall, skinny someone... and yes, of course. I rolled my eyes. Of course, it was my favourite annoying stalker. I thought briefly about pulling my blankets over my head and ignoring him, but my curiosity was too strong. Where was he going? And why had he waited until everyone was asleep until he went?

Something suspicious was definitely going on here. I got up on silent feet and followed him. He walked back along the night-dark road for a mile or so, his footsteps almost as quiet as mine, hands in his pockets as if he was strolling along a beach and not in a place where he could be easily ambushed. I rolled my eyes at this stupidity; my own hand was never far from my belt knife. The road widened out into a field, and then narrowed back into another canyon. When he got there he started climbing. I followed him more slowly, knowing that if I dislodged a single stone it would give me away.

He climbed to the top of the rise and then stopped dead, looking around. I crept closer to him and crouched behind a boulder, squinting in the dim light to see what he was doing. For a long, long time he just stood there. I wondered what he expected to see in the darkness- I certainly couldn't see anything! And then I realised that the darkness was glittering; a wash of dark magic was pouring out from his hands across the cliff, and onwards. I pressed a hand to my mouth, willing myself not to gasp and betray my hiding place. The glitter stretched as far as the horizon. He must be an incredibly powerful mage!

I shook my head, wondering why my headache had suddenly come back. The strange watery whispering had returned too, as if I was dreaming again. They were louder here, and angrier. I stared at the shadow of my hand as it rested against the boulder, trying to concentrate so the voices would go away. As I stared, the strange pattern of the rock became more clear. It looked burned, as if someone had splashed acid on it. I blinked, and then drew back from it. Snakes! This was a snake nest!

I looked desperately around me, seeing the deeper shadows at the bases of the rocks for what they truly were. The snakes were moving incredibly slowly, unsure whether the two invaders in their nest were still there. I bit back a whimper. One of them was only a few feet away, tongue flickering out as it tasted the air, looking for me.

Did Numair know they were there? I peered around the rock, trembling with the effort to move slowly when all I wanted to do was run. He was oblivious, lost in whatever magic he was casting. Perhaps that was for the best; he was so still that the snakes nearest to him were drifting away, bored. But... when he broke out of it, he wouldn't know there were there. He would move, and they would be able to find him.

The movement was too much; my shirt rasped against the rock, and the snake's head snapped around. I ducked in terror as it hissed and spat, spraying the boulder with more of that burning acid. I fumbled for my belt knife and drew it, knowing that it would take the immortal a few moments to recover before it could spit again. And now I had to be quick: I dove out from my cover and slashed at it, catching it across the jaw in a spray of sour-smelling blood. It hissed and recoiled. I grabbed at it before it could slither away, fighting its thrashing tail as it tried to writhe out of my grip. It glared around, lightning fast, and snapped at me with its fangs. As its jaw crunched shut in a creak of shattered bone, I drove my knife into the back of its head, severing its spine. It dropped from my grasp like a stone, paralysed and dying, and I drew my knife out of its body. Was it just my imagination, or did the voice in my head scream into silence?

One victory! But as I fought to catch my breath I knew that the others were surrounding me, moving as slowly as pouring syrup to attack. One snake I could kill, but all of them? There had to be at least twenty. I had to run. But- oh curses! I couldn't leave Numair here.

The snake snapped at me as I jumped over it, one coil of its tail catching my ankle. I fell and rolled, praying that I could stand up again before it thought to spit. I heard the soft rain of the poison on the stones behind me, and started running again. As soon as I was close enough to the mage I grabbed his hand, shocking him out of whatever spell he was doing. As expected, the annoying idiot refused to budge. He blinked and shook his hand free, eyes narrowing as he saw that I'd followed him.

"Run!" I shouted at him before he could get a word in, "There are snakes! Lots of snakes!"

He looked up, scanning the ground, eyes widening as he heard the hiss of lots of very, very angry serpents. This time when I tugged at his hand he did run, following me down the slope in a sliding waves of pebbles and dust. We heard the hisses and animal shrieks as the snakes followed us, sliding more quickly than they could slither alone. When we got to the bottom I started to run along the road, but he caught my hand and stopped me.

"No," he said, his voice dangerous. "We can't leave them there."

"We can't fight them!" I cried, "There are hundreds."

"Oh, don't exaggerate." He muttered, tugging at his nose. When he looked up again it was with grim determination. "Alright, stay there."

I stood still as he walked forwards, studying the cliff carefully. Trails of dust showed where the snakes were still following us; a few of them were only a few seconds away. He ignored them, hands sketching the shape of the cliff in the air, and his lips moved for a moment as if he was thinking out loud.

The cliff burst into flames. The creatures screamed and writhed as they burned, their dark shadows shrivelling in the fire. And then, just as suddenly as the flames had appeared, they vanished. I blinked, chasing the dancing sun-spots from my eyes. As the last snake shrieked against the red-hot rock and died, the voices in my head disappeared. Were they the voices of the snakes? I didn't know that snakes could speak to humans. I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I was still dreaming.

"Are you alright?" Numair asked the question so casually, as if he hadn't just cast a mage flame the size of a village onto the cliffs. I shrugged and took out my knife to clean it. The snake blood was already tacky, and I grimaced as I wiped it on the grass.

"Were you casting something to... to make the snakes talk?" I asked, feeling stupid. He blinked at the question, and shook his head. For a second he looked like he wanted to ask a question, and then looked away.

"Thank you," he said instead. "Those things are _vile."_

Well, if he wasn't going to mention the fact that I followed him up here, I certainly wasn't going to raise the subject! I shrugged off the thanks and we started walking back. I would like to say that we walked in the companionable silence of two comrades in arms, but that would be a lie. It was the awkward silence of two people who have had a fight, but are both trying not to mention it. The best thing, I realised, would be to change the subject altogether. I apologised for following him, and he shrugged.

"What were you doing?" I asked.

He hesitated, and then said, "I was looking to see if anyone was following us."

I threw up my hands and grinned, trying to make the idea into a joke. "Why on earth would someone be following you?"

He looked at me levelly. "They wouldn't." He shrugged and looked unconsciously back along the road. The sun was just rising, and all the stones were tinged with pink light. "But I think someone might be following _you."_


	5. Sarralyn

Is it you, mama? What a strange feeling, to be running away from you! But perhaps it isn't. I thought weeks ago, when I left, that the hunters would follow you and not me. You could spend your life hiding, but that was your life. You didn't have to drag me into it. I always hated that life.

When I was seven I remember screaming at you for it. I'd made friends with another little girl. She meant so much to me in those two short weeks, although now I can't even remember her name. She was a baker's daughter. She seemed so happy, and every day she would let me go home with her and eat fresh bread with creamy new milk. She always ate with her grandma. I can't remember the woman's face, but she smelled of honey and dried apples and her hands were always covered in flour. I would go home to mama with white handprints on my dress and crumbs on my mouth, and being with mama would always seem greyer and colder by comparison.

For the first and last time in my life, I told someone my real name. I told the grandma that I was hiding with my mother, that we would have to leave soon, and that I hated hated hated it. The woman listened in silence, and then asked if I would let mama meet her. They disappeared into a room together, and when mama reappeared she looked serious and tired.

She explained that the grandma had offered to adopt me, which means to let live with her. She said that the grandma had a little granddaughter who had died in the winter, and that she missed her so much that she wanted another little girl to fill the gap in her life. I listened with my mouth hanging open, barely able to believe it. At last- a life in a house, like a normal girl! I could make friends, learn the names of all the people living there, and eat fresh bread every day!

Mama said, You must be a big girl and think carefully. She said, Sleep, and tomorrow tell me what you want to do. She said, Whatever you decide, I won't be angry.

Sleep! Do you think I slept that night? I'm sorry to say I didn't think carefully, or even at all. Instead, I daydreamed about bread and biscuits and sweet old ladies. I drifted off eventually, dreaming about the cream that you can skim so deliciously from the top of a jug of milk. But when I woke up in the morning I wasn't happy, or thinking about bread. All I could see was one terrifying thought, which kept spinning around my mind like a spindle.

Mama is thinking about giving me away, I thought, feeling sick. I couldn't imagine a life without mama. As lovely as any other life could be, it wasn't my life. Mama had always been there. The smile in her grey eyes when she said good-morning to me was a part of my every-day. The shine had worn off the trophy life the grandma was offering me, and all I could think of was how much I'd miss mama if she left me here.

I reached over in the bed we shared and clung tightly to mama, not letting go even when she had woken up and sleepily hugged me back. We never spoke about adopt again.

Eight years later, mama, I still can't believe that you seriously thought about giving me away. Even though I understand some of it, and the danger you wanted to keep me from, I still can't think of a life without you in it. Which is strange, since in the end I was the one who left you.

Are you following me, now? I don't know how Numair knows that I'm hunted. I don't know if I'd prefer it to be you, or the hunters, on my trail. But... whichever one it is, I'm not going to run. I'm on the trail with the merchants, and it's clear who I am and where I'm going. I'm not going to hide. Whether it's you or the hunters, I'd rather stand and face the threat than run away again.

Do I feel safer, with Numair helping me? Hardly. He's under no obligation to help me, and when we get to Corus he'll probably disappear into the palace, and I'll never see him again. We still speak awkwardly. True, we now respect each other... but he wouldn't tell me how he knew I was being followed, and I wouldn't tell him that he was right. I thought I was fine with lying to him, but it seems unfair. And there's a warm, guilty feeling in my stomach when I think about that night. I was horrible to him, and blanked him out of my life, and instead of doing the same he quietly and secretly tried to protect me from the hunters.

Oh goddess, mama! What if you are following me? If he saw you, he might think you were a threat. Imagine if he attacked you!

Mama, don't follow me. Don't come to Corus.

I have to tell him about you. I have to, mama, or else if you follow me he could kill you in a heartbeat.

 

_Daine_

_Other people skip up these steps. I take a pace forward, and feel sick._

_No, not sick... cold. Like the dark shadows the stone statues cast are more than simple shade. Frightened, if I'm honest, but (as Sa would probably point out) I guess I've been frightened for so long that I can barely feel it any more. This feeling is just... cold. Each stair is not a step towards fate or destiny or anything stupid like that, they're just stone slabs._

_Don't get me wrong- I still burn incense on the gods days, but... but this is the first time I've stepped into a temple in years. If my prey hadn't led me here, I would have stayed outside. Never mind that the relentless rain drums against the roof and makes the steps into a waterfall. Never mind that I have barely rested or eaten in two weeks. Temples make me uneasy. The hooded and cloaked men and women who intone their prayers in the corners could be anyone. I had heard of people hiding in temples, watching the worshippers. Of course, such a thing is appalling- to abuse the sacred ground of a temple! But I'm just saying that even the holy priests can be bribed. They can turn a blind eye, and be slightly too slow to summon the temple guards if the prey gets captured on the steps._

_So. The temple._

_It is called Temple of All Gods. This town is too small to have separate temples for each god, like Corus boasts. Instead, the enormous room has separate alcoves, each with their own statue and shrine. I have to admit it is ingenious; with the room a perfect circle, no one god is given greater or lesser favour._

_The Mother Goddess has fresh flowers and jars of mead covering her feet. I forget why I am here for a split second and stared at the statue. Someone has left a tiny blanket at the mother's feet, the soft wool embroidered with daisies and butterflies. It's a common enough sight; when your baby is born safely, you leave a thank-you gift in return. Women who are unlucky with their pregnancies, or whose children are ill, can take one of the offerings as a charm against further worries._

_I don't know if I believe in any of that. It isn't cynicism that sends another sick chill down my spine. You see, I recognise the blanket. I remembered placing it at the Mother's feet in Corus, in our own united temple. We had decided to leave an offering at ma's feet as well. She didn't have her own temple then, so we went to the larger complex where minor gods were housed. I often wonder if things would have been different, if we had decided that I should leave an offering alone in the temple that only women were allowed to enter. Because... it was in that temple that the mage first saw me. It was the same temple where we were cursed, and the same temple where we had to flee for our lives._

_No. I don't like temples. They make me feel cold. And the blanket makes me freeze completely, because it means that my prey knows I am here, following him._

_I blink and stare around, wondering how I could have missed him in this room full of pilgrims. After following him for so many years, I know his walk as well I knew my own. And... there! Suddenly, there he is. I stare at the brown robe he wears, see the smug smirk on his face, and realise why he'd left the blanket. It doesn't matter that I know where he is, or that I was closing in on him. He is as well protected as any fortress, and there is no way I could ever confront him._

_Because, wearing the soft grey robes of a pilgrim now, he is untouchable. The man who cursed me is a priest of the Hag, protected by the gods and by the law. Holy, respected, welcome wherever he goes... no wonder he has drifted ahead of me so easily for so many years!_

_I put my hand out. I had drawn a sharp breath when I saw him and held it too long in my shock, and the room spins dizzily. Don't let me faint! Let them think I'm kneeling in prayer, not in weakness. I imagine the mocking delight on his face, and the room rights itself. I won't be weak, not in front of him. Never! I glare up at him, but he has gone. There is no-one there. I breathe again, trying to get my confused thoughts to settle down so I can plan what to do next._

_"Mistress, are you feeling well?"_

_I think I shock the poor man with how quickly my head snaps up. A grey robe- it's him! But no, he takes a nervous step backwards. I can't imagine my prey being nervous. It's another priest. I think he's unnerved by my staring; I can't think of anything to say. He rubs his hands on his robe and tries again,_

_"I, er... well, we thought you looked ill and Sefan suggested I should enquire, seeing as how you've obviously walked a ways, mistress."_

_I blink. Yes- I realise I'm covered in mud, and I probably look like some wild witch. I smile crookedly, and he smiles back in relief until he hears the honeyed barb in my question, "Sefan?"_

_"Err...er..." this time he wrings his hands together, "Well, the other priest I was co-conversing with, mistress."_

_"You call him Sefan?" He looks blank. I sigh- of course they call him that, it's probably his name by now. I stand up and brush off my skirt. I miss the boys clothes I used to wear, but I need to blend in. At least I look fairly respectable, I guess. I smile at the priest and hold out a hand, trying not to laugh when he stares at it in panic._

_"My name's Beth- Elizabeth, I mean." A good start, looking like I don't know my own name! It doesn't feel right, lying to a priest... even one as nervous as this one. He takes my hand and bows awkwardly, which gives me time to think of my next sentence. "I'm a pilgrim. I want to be a priestess. Here. I mean, I want to train in this temple. Can I?"_

_I thought the question would make him even more nervous, but he straightens up at my words. Now he can retreat into the professional jargon he's been trained in, I guess. "You want to be a priestess?" He repeats, quite obviously looking me up and down. At least I look like a pilgrim. I try a smile again, but this time he doesn't smile back._

_"Yes, I've walked here from my village. From... from Haroth." I hope he's never heard of it; I can't remember the place. It's far away enough that it would explain the mud, at least._

_He shrugs and asks, "Which goddess, mistress, do you wish to serve?"_

_Goddess? I panic for a second, and then blurt out the first name in my head, "The Green Lady."_

_He sighs and looks around, as if wishing another priest was here to say this. "You do realise, mistress, that this isn't a light decision to make? If you are sworn to the goddess, you will have to answer to her in the immortal realms. Training is difficult, it's hard work, and it's for life. You can't change your mind."_

_I have to force myself to smile this time. The idea terrifies me- to be trapped like that! But it's the only way I can think of to get close to Sefan. I have to confront him. I have to watch him. A priestess can drift from place to place just like a priest, as they are called. Perhaps, if I follow him closely enough, I'll see him breaking the rules, or mocking the gods. Perhaps he'll show his true nature. I can't kill a priest, but I can destroy him._

_Of course, he'll do the same to me. He could easily slip away while I'm training, but something tells me he won't. He's always watched me. He told me he would- to see if I wrote a letter, or spoke to the wrong person, or even if I told Sarra the truth. I'm not stupid enough to think he could watch me constantly, but one slip up would be deadly. If he snaps his fingers, she'll die._

_The thought makes me decide, suddenly. I straighten up and this time my smile is genuine._

_"I'm sure," I say confidently, "I won't change my mind."_

_He smiles and beckons for me to follow him into the depths of the temple. I pick up the blanket before I follow him._


	6. Numair

"Why?"

Sarralyn stares at her feet, as if they somehow hold the answer. I'm pretty sure I already know what the answer's going to be, but of course I can't tell her that. I press further, "Why do you want me to stop looking? Do you already know who's following you? You didn't seem that surprised when I told you they were there."

She shrugs and kicks up a pebble, sending it skidding into the rocks. The caravan is on the move again. When we told them about the snake nest, they fixed the wheel as quickly as possible and we started walking before daybreak. When there's one nest of the creatures, there's usually more, and I must have made them angry. If they attack in a swarm like they did last night it's easy to kill them, but they usually sneak up on you, and then you're in danger. Like they did to me, last night.

You're probably thinking I'm a fool, but even if they had crept over to me they would never have managed to attack me. I'm not an idiot; scrying makes anyone vulnerable, and it's a stupid man who doesn't shield himself before he closes his eyes. But Sarralyn wasn't to know that... in fact, that was the most worrying thing about last night. She didn't even notice my shield was there, but when she reached through it and grabbed my hand it vanished like smoke. And she hadn't set off any of the wards that I'd left on the path.

In a way, it solved a mystery for me. As far as the gift was concerned, my daughter was almost completely invisible. It explained why we've never been able to scry for her, or find her through the gift. At the same time, it's utterly perplexing; I have no idea what is causing it.

However worrying last night was, it's also made a new truce between us. I believe the merchants have given up on us- one day we're talking, the next day we won't even look in the other's direction! But today's peace probably won't last either; Sarralyn started today's conversation off in the most awkward way: "I know that you mean it kindly, but I'd be fair grateful if you'd stop looking for the person who's following me."

And now, staring at her feet, she won't tell me why. "It'll sound silly," she says finally. I smile and gesture at the merchants- they're walking quite far ahead.

"They won't hear it."

"It's not them I'm worried about," she mutters. She suddenly looks up, and her eyes are challenging. "Can't you just let me solve my own problems? I want to deal with this myself. I mean, first mama, and then you..." she stops and claps a hand over her mouth, aware that she's let something slip. Of course, the only thing I can do is pretend it didn't happen. Thank the gods that the canyon swarms with late autumn wasps, drugged by the new cold. I make a show of waving one away, and then curse when the little pest stings me. You were only supposed to be a distraction! I think after it bitterly as it buzzes away.

"Normally I'd say yes," I reply, "But you're... what, sixteen? Fifteen? If this person following you wants to hurt you, how are you going to stop them? Killing snakes is all very well, but humans are different."

"How do you know I've not killed humans before?" She retorts, trying to win the discussion with pure bravado. I shake my head.

"You haven't."

"I might have done. You wouldn't know." I sigh- she sounds petulant. Any minute now she's going to storm away and not speak to me for another week. How can I talk to her? Saying I hunt down murderers for a living will make her defensive, and I know that your mother would never let you is definitely wrong. And how have we gotten caught on this topic? I want her to tell me who's following her. It's either Daine or the person who Daine's been running from all these years, and I would dearly like to speak to either of them. I end up talking plainly to her.

"Look, I've fought through two wars. I know that death's nothing to boast about. And I know... well, look." I stop and catch hold of her arm so that I can study her face. She flushes under my scrutiny, but stares defiantly back. "Lilith, I've killed people. Their deaths burn into your mind, and your dreams. They're written in your eyes. Is that what you want? It's not something I want for you. And like I said, you're fifteen. No-one expects you to fight off the world by yourself, you know!"

She smiles thinly and tugs her arm away so she can start walking again. "What if the person following me is... is not a person I want to fight? Are you going to chat to them on my behalf, too?"

"Depends what they want to chat about." I grin, making a joke of it, and then ask offhandedly, "Do you know who they are, then?"

"Yes- no." She corrects herself, and then shakes her head. "Maybe. I don't really know. But whoever they are, I don't know if you should... oh hells." She shook her head again, this time in frustration. "I can't explain! I made this plan to tell you to back off, but you're right, I don't want to kill anyone either. But what if I have to? Couldn't you teach me to..."

"No."

"Then... do you know anyone who might? I mean, obviously you can't because you work for the law, and all that, but..."

"No." Did she listen to nothing I said to her? Daine must have developed the patience of a priest, to put up with this. Sarralyn's not even frightened for her life; she's just calmly planning to learn how to kill... whoever this person is. I guess it's not her mother, then. "If they've broken the law- and, believe it or not, assaulting a young woman definitely counts- then there are other ways to deal with this. And please believe that I'll never let you be in a position where you have no choice but to kill someone."

"But you don't understand! " She throws her hands up. Apparently shaking her head just wasn't dramatic enough. "What if- just supposing- the person following me had every right to take me away? Legally, I mean. You may be some kind of guard or travelling judge or whatever, but as long as it's not breaking the law you can't do anything, right? And if they take me away then they could kill me and feed me to the spidren and... and use my bones to build a coat rack... and you'd never know."

"I'm pretty sure the coat rack thing is against the law." I scratch my nose to give myself time to think, and in the end just blurt out the first thing in my mind. "Look, can't you just tell me what's going on?"

"No." She mimics my flat rejection with a wry smile, and then holds up a hand. "But... but I guess I can tell you a story. I'm not telling you if it's true, mind you. I don't know that myself. But it's the only story I've ever been told which even seems to fit." She smiles suddenly, an incredibly genuine smile which lights up her face. "And... Numair, thank you for offering to help me. No-one's ever done that before. It's really nice of you."

"It's my job," I try to say. But I can't help smiling, too.

 

Sarralyn

Once upon a time... oh, how strange to start this story like that! Let's try... a fair few years ago and a day, there were two people who loved each other very much, enough to make them choose to live and lay together, although probably not in that order. Unfortunately their love was not deep like the sea, but shallow as a desert well, and after just a few years it had nearly dried up. Now, many people will tell you that this is normal. They would say that, since they had a baby and a hearth to call their own, they should be happy and just get on with their lives. But these people weren't normal, they were warriors, and instead of being content they began to fight.

Now... I'm sorry? Well no, Numair, I never said this story was true. Saying that you don't think that's right is like telling me the moon's not made from cheese. How would you know? Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so they fought. I think I said they were warriors, both of them skilled at spying and fighting and outsmarting their enemies, and in those few months their enemies were each other. In the end, though, the woman told the man that she was leaving him, and that she was taking the baby with her. She... oh, what now? No, I don't know why she didn't leave the baby with him. I guess it needed feeding. Shall we add that to the story? It was as fat as a pig, and whenever she tried to wean it the baby hit her over the head with a spoon. Happy?

Anyway, the man couldn't forgive the woman for leaving him, and vowed that he would have his revenge. Because she was the one who had run away, he told stories about how wicked she was- don't you dare interrupt! -and soon the whole army were looking for her. They couldn't find her, because she was better at hiding than he was at seeking, even when she was carrying the magical pig baby, so the man hired hunters to search for her. And so, for over a decade, scared for her life, she had to run from town to town, keeping away from the people who were searching for her. The pig baby grew up into a short tempered girl who liked telling stories, and one day she ran away from her mother. She figured that, since her father was hunting for her mother, she could have a normal life if she just left her mother behind.

And now comes the twist in the story... because just before the pig baby left the mother, the mother told her a new story. She told her that... she said...

I'm sorry. Can you give me a second? I need some water. I... sorry.

She...

...Okay. She said, I'm not scared of your father. She said she wished she was a coward. She said, if she was, she would run back to him in an instant. You think your deaths stay in your dreams, but they're nothing to the way those words haunted the pig baby. The last thing her mother said to her was, If I returned, you would be killed. You'd be dead before you could even see the colour of your father's hair.

The... the... Oh, I swear I'm getting a sore throat. Can you hear how my voice croaks? Excuse me for a moment.

No, I'm fine. Honestly, Numair, it's just a story. Are you alright? You look pale. I guess you didn't get much sleep last night. Do you want me to ask them to stop for a while? Are you sure? Okay, fine. Yes, I am telling the story. Well, if you didn't keep interrupting me I'd probably have finished it by now.

So anyway, the pig baby didn't think this was true, because her mother had told her the story about the fight, and it didn't fit in with it at all. But then, the fight thing had always sounded like a story. There was no way that this was anything but the truth. And if it was the truth, then it meant that the father wanted to kill the pig baby, not the mother. And the pig baby got scared. She was scared of her mother, because she'd lied to her for so many years that she didn't even know her own name, and she was scared of her father. She didn't know what either of them wanted, any more. So she ran away. She ran in the direction of her father's hunters, because she knew her mother wouldn't dare to follow her. But now somebody is following her, and she doesn't know who it is, or what they want, or if they want to hurt her or argue. She doesn't know anything. But because she doesn't know anything, the pig baby decided that she would stop running and actually try and find something out.

There. The end, I guess. I... honestly, are you alright? You really look ill. What?

No, I don't know why the mother ran away. I told you, this is the only story mama ever... erm. The only explanation I ever got. But some of it must be true. I mean, father... the pig baby's father... he must be a horrible person, to want to kill his daughter. Er, no, I don't know what she meant when she said I'd be killed. Yes, maybe there is another person involved, I said he hired hunters. No, you didn't listen. There wasn't another person out to hurt both of them, they're doing a good enough job hurting each other, don't you think?

Oh, stop asking questions. I don't know the answers. I was never told. You only wanted to hear to see if you could help me. Now do you see that it's hopeless? Father has as much right to take me away as mother does. And... oh, you really do look awful. Stay here, I'll run ahead and ask them to stop for a few hours. I thought you'd used a lot of magic on that dratted cliff...


	7. Daine

The creature chatters loudly, and wakes me up. It's a strange sound. Sometimes it sounds like leaves crunching underfoot, and sometimes it's more like the sound of a whetstone on steel. I open my eyes slowly. Once, when it woke me up, I opened my eyes to see its red eyes inches from mine, staring. I shrieked and tried to push it off, but of course my hands passed through it like smoke. It laughed and darted away.

This time, I can't afford to be startled like that. It won't be Sarralyn that I wake up, but the other priestesses who sleep on the pallets around me. As holy as the women are, I have no doubt that they would love to report me to the Little Mother, who speaks for the Mother Goddess. She can be quite creative when thinking up penances.

So, I open my eyes as slowly as I dare, and sure enough the creature is staring back.

I wonder if it ever gets bored. I think it could look quite intelligent, if its eyes didn't look like two pieces of coal stuck in a mutilated scar of a shadow. But then, I hate the thing.

I tried to talk to it once. I mean, I tried to use my magic to speak to it. After all, the cursed thing feeds from my gift, so I figured it might have learned a few things. I can only summon up a tiny glimmer of magic now, but at the time I thought that would be enough.

Why do you do it? I asked the creature. I barely got to the end of the sentence before it hissed and slashed at me, lethally sharp claws tearing through my skin and scoring across my forehead... but when I gasped and pressed my hands to the gaping wounds, there was nothing there. It hurt like a real attack, and the headache made me dizzy for days... but the claw marks had faded from my flesh like smoke.

Tonight, it stares around at the temple as if it's curious. The others can't hear its rasping chatter or see its strange red glow, and they don't wake when it leaps onto their pallets and sniffs at their sleeping bodies. I would say it's like a dog, or perhaps a monkey, but it changes every time I see it. Once it even looked human.

Apparently bored with the priestesses (and I can't blame it really), it jumps down from the last bed and stares back at me. Normally this would be the moment when it darts away, vanishing into the distance faster than a swift could fly, and then I wouldn't see it until the next time it decides to wake me up. It returns to its master, and in that way it is like a dog.

It stares at me, and I stare back, hugging my knees through the rough blanket against the midnight chill. When it leaves it doesn't run, but ambles along at a sedate pace, occasionally chattering to itself. I hesitate, and then push the blanket away.

When my bare foot touches the stone floor the creature hisses, its hackles rising like a cat's as it glares at me. Point made, it turns away and resumes its amble. I put the other foot on the floor, and this time it pays me no attention. As silently as I can, I follow it through the door and out into the corridor. The shadow hisses and snaps at me whenever I am too close, so I hang back and wait for it to calm down before I take another step.

I'm curious to see what it will do. I've never managed to follow it before; it flits away so quickly! I know it returns to Sefan, I just don't know why. He summoned it; he told it what to do. Now, surely, it shouldn't need guidance.

It's leading me to the men's half of the temple. I have no qualms about trespassing there, but I tread more lightly when I step through the doorway. Yesterday a girl was told to skin the slaughtered sacrifices for three weeks as punishment for being late to a meal. A meal! And even I have to admit that this is slightly more serious. I've been here for a week, and already I can tell you that the law on the outside means nothing here. These people answer to the gods or no one, and since the gods themselves bicker and fight, well...

It stops abruptly and I stop ten paces behind it, hidden in the shadows. This isn't the other dormitory, at least- I couldn't explain being there. But a corridor... anyone can get lost. I shrink back against the wall silently and peer through the darkness, looking to see what the creature is doing.

Another shadow greets it with a single, sighed word: "Already?" The creature gibbers its rasping laugh, capering like an excited puppy, and the man groans as he sits on the stone next to it. I blink. I don't know what I expected to happen, but this world-weary exchange wasn't it. The man- and it is Sefan, it has to be- takes out his knife, and hisses through his teeth as he digs the point into the skin of his arm. I cover my mouth in horror as the creature latches onto the wound, drinking with sickening gurgles and the unmistakable sound of lapping.

Sefan rests his head in his other hand, as if the horrible act bores him. When he speaks again, his voice is feeble, and I realise that his boredom is in fact weariness. His shadow creature has been waking me every four or five nights for the last decade. He must have been feeding it every time. It swallows loudly and licks a rasping tongue around its mouth before diving for the man's arm again.

"No," Sefan pushes the creature away, and to my surprise he can touch it. It whines loudly at being shoved, and scratches petulantly at the man's hand. He hisses and drags his hand away, cursing when the creature licks away the new flow of blood and sniggers its leaf-like laugh. Shaking his head as if he expected nothing less, the man takes a scrap of bandage from his pocket and starts binding up the deeper wound.

The creature dances back to me. Its bloated belly swings beneath it, heavy and dark with the thick liquid it has just drunk. Now, now it will come close to me- and it gibbers wildly at me in my hiding place.

Fine. There's no point in hiding. I stand up and turn so that Sefan can see me. Our eyes meet. His are sick with weariness, but flash with fury when he sees me. He unconsciously wipes sleep from his eyes, leaving a trail of blood which drips into his beard unheeded.

We don't say anything. The creature makes all the sound. I turn, and walk away with Sefan's shadow loyally walking at heel.

 

Sarralyn  
  
Today we walked through a town, and half of the caravan stayed behind. There's no need for them to walk all the way into the city if they can sell their wares closer to home. Only those who sell the finest quality goods still walk with us. They are taking their rich supplies to the houses of the nobles, who like to eat things like truffles and fatted geese, stuffed with the finest mushrooms... well, food is food, I guess. I have seen how they hunt for truffles, and to be honest I would never eat anything that a hog has had that close to its nose. I prefer simple food- luckily, really, because that's all I get!

Still, I had to be dragged away from the market. The town we walked through wasn't Corus, but it was far larger and more exciting than any town I'd ever been in! We walked right into the centre to drop off some of our caravan, and while they were unpacking I explored. Ah, the market! The sun was shining, and everyone was out in their finest clothes. There were fire-eaters, and rope-walkers, and even a juggler who caught a knife between his teeth.

When the juggler found out I had no coppers to spare for his trick, he yelled at me. My stumbling apology did nothing; his face turned red as a berry and he shouted so much that his teeth fell out: carved wooden teeth! I scrabbled in the dirt to pick them up, babbling an apology and wiping the dust off them with my skirt. When I dared to look up, the juggler was smiling toothlessly and everyone around me was laughing merrily. It had been part of his act- a joke! I flushed, mortified, and ducked away through the crowd as the gummy juggler held out a hat for the shower of coins. Before I could escape, a hand caught my elbow and stopped me.

"That was mean," Numair said, his clear voice breaking through the chuckles. The juggler shrugged and put his teeth back in, sucking the dust from the gaps.

"She's jusht a kid. She'll get over it." He smiled and mimed a dramatic pose. "Or else... alas! For the lady whose life was ruined by the jolly juggler's jumping jaws!" He winked at the crowd, winning another snigger. But now the laughter was different, more pointed. People were waiting, watching to see what would happen.

"Don't bother," I muttered, knowing even as I tugged at Numair's hand that the idiot would ignore me. He smiled rapidly down at me and squeezed my hand before stepping through the crowd.

"I wonder," he said, still smiling, "If you know any tricks that don't involve embarrassing children."

Children? I opened my mouth to object to that gem of a description, but the crowd were murmuring too loudly for anything I said to be heard. The juggler looked around as the crowd started turning against him, looking for support, and shrugged theatrically.

"I don't exspect... shorry." He stopped and fiddled with his teeth. There was laughter, and then he straightened up again. "I don't expect you know any, either. I only tease them as can't pay for high-quality entertainment. Pay a copper for your daughter, and I'll even pat her on the sweet head when I apologise."

I expected Numair to take offence at the man's insolent speech, and I think half the crowd agreed with me. This time there was less laughter, and more muttering behind hands. A few of them glanced at me, and I did my best to look nonchalant. But instead of rising to the bait, Numair turned around and addressed the crowd with a bright smile on his face.

"Did you all enjoy your high-qual'ty en-tertainment?" He asked, his voice carrying all the slurring inflections of the juggler. The crowd laughed, some nodding, some jeering at the juggler, some shouting insults to try to provoke the fight they were anticipating. Numair raised his arms to acknowledge their replies, and when he lowered them the crowd fell silent. Where on earth had he learned to do that?

The juggler turned red at the mockery, and even redder when the mage continued, "If I show you something better, do you think this man should apologise to my daughter?" This time there were fewer jeers- the crowd seemed to agree with one voice. When Numair turned to face the juggler there was a grin on his face- the lanky show-off was having fun. He lowered his voice confidingly, which of course meant the crowd was listening even more intently. "And of course, if I can't then I will pay you two coppers."

There was a lull as everyone looked at the juggler. Of course, he couldn't back down now. He nodded sullenly, and before Numair could rile the crowd up any more the juggler started his act. I have to admit, it was a good trick. He started with three knives, and then four, throwing them behind his back and catching them neatly by the handle. He caught the last one in his teeth, as before, and the crowd applauded loudly.

Then it was Numair's turn. He stepped into the middle of the circle of people, and then patted his pockets down, looking embarrassed. There were giggles as he turned his pockets out, which grew into guffaws when he stopped and said, "Can anyone lend me something to juggle?"

The crowd cheered mockingly and shook their heads. Numair shrugged and smiled shyly at an old woman, who had battered her way to the front of the crowd with the help of a huge basket she carried. She grinned and held the basket behind her back when he walked towards her, and there was another laugh from the crowd. I stared at the ground, wanting it to swallow me up. Everyone here thought I was this idiot's daughter. I'd rather have the tooth trick pulled on me again!

And then... the jeering stopped in one surprised gasp. Then the laughter returned, but this time it was good natured. I looked up to see that Numair held two eggs easily in one hand. He reached behind the woman's ear, and a third one appeared as if he'd summoned it. Before the crowd's whispering got too loud, he nodded his thanks to the woman and started juggling the eggs with the casual ease of a jester.

"Don't drop them!" Someone heckled. Numair grinned and threw one high in the air.

"Why, don't you like omelettes?" He retorted, winning a round of applause as he caught the egg behind his back and returned it to the whirling pair. His juggling was just as intricate as the gummy juggler's had been. The crowd whispered to each other frantically- this competition was going to be close.

And then they were once again silenced as Numair threw one of the eggs into the air and it stayed there, suspended in mid air. A thin crack snaked across the surface, and with a burst of light the egg hatched and a tiny bird made of fire swooped from it, circling the crowd before darting into the air and disappearing in a shower of amber sparks. The crowd gasped as one, and then started cheering wildly. Numair had definitely won.

The show over, Numair returned the eggs to the old woman and thanked her for the loan. She shook her head in awed amazement and drifted away with the rest of the crowd, throwing a copper on the ground as she left. The mage nodded at the sour-looking juggler, and indicated the coins that littered the ground. When the juggler realised that they were all for him to keep, he brightened up and started gathering them in sweeping handfuls of dust and metal.

"I... didn't know you could do that." I said to Numair, trying not to sound as awestruck as the rest of the crowd did. He shrugged and dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. It took me a second to realise that his other hand was dripping with raw egg and bits of broken shell.

"I haven't done it in a while," he admitted, scrubbing the egg off his palm. "I guess I owe that woman an egg."

"But..." I blinked and looked up at where the shining bird had been. "Didn't it...?"

"No, it didn't." He said, smiling at my expression. "Everyone's always so surprised by the flashy bird that they never notice the egg falling down. I caught it badly, though. I guess I'm lucky it didn't land on my head!"

"You deserved it!" The juggler was back, his pockets noticeably heavier. His voice sounded highly wounded, although his eyes danced merrily. "Eshpecially for that imitation of me. That was just cruel."

"You deserved it, you old crook. You owe Lilith an apology, still."

The juggler looked me up and down, and then looked back at Numair. "Well, she's ugly enough to be your daughter. Where did you find her?"

Numair's voice held a definite threat when he repeated himself, "I said apologise."

The juggler held up his hands in mocking surrender, and then turned to me. I expected a single grudging word or two, but what he actually said was the most ridiculous, flowery speech to have ever escaped from a theatre troop. I believe crying puppies were mentioned, not to mention the wellbeing of the juggler's very soul. I say I believe because I started laughing uncontrollably before he was more than half way through, and every sentence he came out with afterwards sent me into further peals of laughter.

"So... you know each other?" I asked, when I could breathe again. They both nodded.

"Meeting people like Erik is one of the worst things about my job." Numair pulled a face at the juggler, who stuck out his tongue. He grinned and carried on, "I know a man named George, who introduced me to Erik when I started out. He used to be a con man, believe it or not. It's essential to know all the local gossip when you're tracking people, and Erik always keeps his ear to the ground."

The juggler nodded seriously. "Next to my teeth," he added. I bit back a laugh and nodded a greeting to the man, who bowed back with the same theatrical gait he'd used before. Once he'd finished he turned back to Numair, his face impassive. "But there's no news at the moment. No killers, no thieves, not even any apple scrumping. Folks these days are just plain lazy."

"I'm not here to work," Numair glanced at me, and when Erik nodded back I had the impression I'd missed a whole chunk of conversation. The odd feeling was gone just as rapidly as it had appeared. I guess I just imagined it. He was still talking. "We think someone might be tracking us. If someone starts asking questions, or follows our steps, can you send word to the 'Dove?"

Erik looked confused. "But... why don't you just let her catch up? I mean, if it's..."

"Erik." The threat was back in Numair's voice, so cold it was almost chilling. Erik actually took a step back, and nodded frantically.

"Sure. Yes, yes, I can do that." He burbled, and then grinned again, rather weakly, as he walked away with his pockets rattling. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Lilith..."

"Yes, it was..." my own voice trailed off when he took off at a run. I wrapped my arms around myself against a sharp breeze, and looked up at Numair. "Who was he talking about, please? I know it's none of my business," I added rapidly, "but I'd like to know. You sounded angry about it."

"Oh, he was thinking of something else." The man said absently, glancing at me from the corner of his eye as if he was working out whether I was trustworthy. I pulled a face at his vague answer.

"You know, I told you pretty much my entire life story two days ago. And I didn't ask you to interfere in the first place, but here we are. The least you could do is to tell me who this she is. Are you being followed, too?"

He grinned at that as if it was ludicrous. "Is the whole world full of people following each other?" He asked. I blinked, wondering if he expected an answer or if he was just being silly. But then he looked away, folding his handkerchief neatly and putting it back in his pocket.

"He was talking about my wife," he said easily.

"Oh." It suddenly felt like I'd been prying. I'd been expecting a particularly cunning killer, or another person who worked for the king. "I didn't know you were married."

"You didn't know I could juggle, either." He scratched his nose awkwardly, and then looked up at the sky. "It's clouding over, and the others will be leaving. Let's go."


	8. Daine

"Where's your daughter?"

I sit up on my heels and glance around, the wet cloth dripping soap onto the tiles I've been washing. I can't work out the man's tone at all. Everything echoes in here; the tiles shine like glass on the walls, floors and even the ceiling. They're a pain to scrub, but because someone saw me sneaking out of bed, scrub them I must. Sefan's voice was vague, and when I glance at his face it's just as impassive. I shrug and dunk the cloth violently into my bucket of water, hoping some of the splash will reach his rotten feet.

"Gods, you're childish." If anything, he sounds amused. His voice echoes more on his next sentence, and I realise he's turning around to speak to someone else. "She's not going to give us any clues, then."

I whirl around at that. I can't help it. When my eyes fall on him, the stranger nods his head towards me with respect to my goddess. As if a soap-stained priestess kneeling on a cold stone floor can represent anything holy. The stranger is young, his build is stocky, and although he holds his hat in his hands his posture holds none of the shy deference most visitors to the temple have. He stares at Sefan levelly as soon as his eyes have flicked away from me, and his own voice holds none of the other man's amusement.

"Do you need her help, old man?" He asks insolently. Sefan flushes. Despite my panic, I can't help smiling at that. Sefan looks around before I can hide my smirk, and his eyes narrow.

"No." He tells the boy. "The girl only has two people in her life, and she's not with this one. She'll be with her father, and he's easy enough to find." He wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders, and begins whispering to him confidingly. I turn back to my cloth and wring the water out of it with one twist. He's playing a game... it's obvious he just wanted me to hear that he's hunting for Sarralyn. He wants me to react. The best thing I can do is... nothing.

But I start laughing. I can't help it. My shoulders are barely shaking by the time the boy leaves the room, but by the time Sefan turns back to me I'm covering my mouth with my hands to stop laughing out loud. He stares at me for a second, and then sits down on the floor next to me. It's strangely companionable.

"What a stupid trick," I gasp when I can stop laughing enough to get the words out. "You're an idiot. Why would she be with him? She doesn't know who her da is. That was one of your stupid rules, remember? I never told her."

"I know that." He sounds strangely peaceful. He stares at his booted feet, casually kicking the heels against the tiles and leaving tiny arcs of mud on their mirror surfaces. "But she does know that someone's been following you, and since she's run away from you in his direction it's rather telling, don't you think?"

I shrug uncomfortably. The idea that she's with Numair is just stupid. Out of all the people in Tortall, it seems utterly impossible that she would have met him. And besides, if she did, I doubt they would recognise each other. Still, it's oddly comforting to imagine, even for a moment, that she's safe with her da. I shake my head to get rid of that idiotic thought. If she met Numair, she wouldn't feel safe. She'd run away. She's always been terrified of him. And Numair would make the whole thing worse by chasing her... he wouldn't be able to help it.

Sefan starts speaking again. This time, his words are honeyed, "If you had broken my rules, we wouldn't be playing this game anymore. And... honestly, Veralidaine? I'm sick of it. It bores me to death."

"Then stop it!" I can't stop the words from rushing out; the sudden hope in my voice is ugly and vulnerable. I remember the sickness in his face, from when he fed the creature a few nights ago. The thought won't go away: he wants this to end as much as I do. I gaze at him, pleading, and he pulls a face at me as if I am being stupid.

"I can't. I only agreed to summon that thing because I thought it would take... oh, I don't know, a few weeks? Maybe a month?" He kicks harder at the floor, and with a sound like glass shattering a thin crack appears on one of the tiles. "A month for you to give up, or for that mage to track you down. But you were both so stubborn, and the months just dragged on and on! And then I thought... a few years. You would tell someone the truth, or teach the brat what had happened, and break the rules that way. But again, no." He sighs dramatically. I wonder if he's going to tell me some sob story, or if he expects me to pity him. The thought makes me furious. He's acting like he's suffered... like it's my fault. As if I'm the one who made his life a living hell.

"Why did you do it?" I hiss, finally asking the question I've waited fifteen years to say. He glances sideways at me, and shrugs absently. I can't drop the question. I could be killing this man now, tearing at him with claws and teeth. But I have to know. I want to believe, somewhere deep in my heart, that this has happened for a reason. He can't just shrug that answer away from me. I try asking differently, "Why didn't you just kill me?"

He looks shocked. "I'm not a monster, Veralidaine. I don't kill people."

I choke back a laugh at that and tear the green veil out of my hair. Mama won't notice her priestess breaking the rules. The demon blinds her eyes, just like it hides my gift. But if I'm going to kill the man, I don't want it to be as her priestess. Perhaps Sefan guesses my thoughts, because he sighs again and stretches in a yawn.

"Killing me won't kill the demon. I told you that before. It'll just look elsewhere for its food." He flicks his eyes in my direction briefly, and again he shrugs. "You think I'm afraid of you? You can't kill me. The creature has taken more of my blood than you ever could, and you're not a monster either. You just believe in the wrong things."

He looks at me again, and stops talking. I suddenly notice that I'm shaking. I've wanted to kill this man for so long, but he's right... I can't. I could still get answers from him. He could call the creature off, I'm sure. I can bargain with him. But my thoughts must be written too keenly on my face, because he rolls his eyes and kicks the bucket over. I notice that he's never still, always fidgeting. The water pours over the tiles, and he begins to absently sketch symbols with his fingertip in the water. When I stop shaking he starts speaking again. His voice is quiet, as if he's thinking out loud, and I have to lean closer to hear a single word.

"Why didn't I kill you? Looking at you now, you're nothing. But then... back then, you had us terrified. Did you know that? So many battles where the archers would be firing at the sky, terrified that the next sparrow they saw would be a spy, and the next hedgehog would be an assassin. You made our armies into a laughing stock. And our leaders kept trying to tell us, you were just a girl. But still, we were scared. Between you and the black mage, you could decimate an entire encampment just with a rumour. They thought about assassinating you, of course. But we knew that your husband would burn the clouds from the sky to get revenge. So... so we did nothing. And then, we found the spell. It was a gift from the gods." He makes a sign against evil and raises his eyes gratefully towards the statue of Mithros. I can't bring myself to say anything. If the gods have anything to do with the demon, it must be one of their cruellest tricks. I realise he's still talking, and have to force myself to listen. His voice becomes even quieter, and almost sad.

"In the end, I was the only one who would cast the spell. It costs a lot, Veralidaine- not just blood. But that's not the reason. I had to be prepared to risk all that, and even then the spell would only work if you were...were human. I mean, I had to believe that you were capable of love beyond yourself, and beyond your own happiness. No-one else could bring themselves to think that of you. But we knew that if it did work, then both you and your husband would disappear from the war like smoke." He shrugs. "And you did. You to run, and he to follow. And now the war's long gone, and my country still lost. But I'm still here."

I've been holding my breath. I let it out in a rush so I can speak, "Then there's no point to it any more. You can undo it, and..."

He interrupts me, his voice suddenly angry. "I can't! Gods, don't you ever listen? It'll only go away when the curse is completed. For the Hag's sake, all you had to do was forget about your damned husband and start a new life. How difficult is it to get over one person? But no." He sounds almost petulant now, and flecks of spit fly from his mouth as he speaks. "You had to spread rumours, and let him follow you. And you had to hunt me down. For so- many- years! Gods, you're so annoying!" He stops shouting and tries to catch his breath. I stare at him, wondering why I was ever frightened by this man.

"You're pathetic," I say, so quietly that I don't know if he even heard me. His eyes narrow. I stand up before he can start ranting again, picking up my bucket and veil. He's still breathing heavily when he calls after me, and I hesitated before I stop and look back. He's just a small man, sitting in a puddle of soap suds with a red face.

"Veralidaine," he catches his breath, and starts again, "The curse will be completed. We have to make this end. I've got it all worked out. Tomorrow, you and I are starting our pilgrimage with some of the other new sheep in our delightful flock. We're going to Corus."

Wonderful. He's been calmly planning a way to kill my daughter. Well, if he expected a reaction from me, he's not getting it. I stand impassively, the bucket dripping cold suds down my skirt. The slimy water is annoying. I decide to speak.

"I don't have to go." I turn to leave, and he stops me again. This time I can't stop myself glaring as I spin around. His face is less red, but twisted in some mockery of a smile.

"Well, no... but then, it's the only chance you'll get to follow my young friend, who's looking for your daughter. And I don't think you'll like what will happen if he finds her before you do." He grins, and this time the smile is genuine. "Demon or no demon, for us to get rid of the curse, all she has to do is die."

 

Sarralyn

We've been in Corus for nearly a month now.

Add that to the time travelling, and my time working at the inn, and it means that I ran away nearly three months ago. When I say it like that, it sounds like a long time. It doesn't feel the same as the rapid reality of it. I still expect people to stop me and demand to know who I am. I still feel my heart racing when I walk through doorways or around corners, as if mother will be waiting there to take me away.

But this is the truth about the city- no-one really cares. I see street children in tens and twenties, roaming the streets and picking pockets. There are streetwalkers and beggars, and criminals who hang from cages with signs above their heads spelling out their crimes. The people throw rotten vegetables at them, and they curse and taunt the crowds in return. This is how much people care about other people in the city: Tomorrow, when those thieves are back on the streets, none of these people will look at them twice.

I'm not sure if I like it. It seems very lonely, for a place with so many people. When you walk down the street here you could really be nothing. You're just an extra face in a crowd. It makes me feel safe, but at the same time it's made me realise just how alone I am in the world. A few times now I have woken myself up by crying in my dreams, my pillow soaked with tears. I guess I just miss my ma.

I don't mean that I don't have friends. The merchants we travelled with have sold their wares and gone, but Numair had stayed for long enough to introduce me to my new job before he left too. He said he wouldn't be gone long, but that he had to work some things out at the palace and report back to the king.

I smiled at his tone and asked him why he was being so apologetic. It's not like I could go to the palace, after all. I don't think I would even want to. It towers over the city, with its centuries of stone and strangely shaped wings. Half of the city wall has been knocked down to make more room for building, and half of the castle looks ornate rather than defensive. It's strange to think that the last war only ended a few years ago; this castle doesn't look so easy to defend now. But despite that it still looks intimidating enough, especially to a runaway teenager. So I was relieved when we turned off the main street and headed for an inn called the Dancing Dove, where I was to work.

Numair held the door open for me, in the odd gentlemanly way he has. I guess it comes from spending all that time with the nobles. The chatter inside the inn died down slightly when I walked in, and several people stared openly at me. I flushed and looked at my feet. When Numair walked in behind me the chatter started up again, and a few people shouted out greetings to him. He smiled and looked around until his eyes lit on someone he apparently knew, and he propelled me towards them.

The woman was sitting on her own at the bar, but she slouched with the easy grace of someone whose time could be bought for the right price. I blushed and avoided her brazen stare, wondering why on earth I was being introduced to her. In a few seconds I'd been hustled onto another stool, and I suddenly realised that Numair had disappeared and left me with her. I drew a ring in the beer on the counter, feeling the heat still rising in my cheeks. Laughter made me look up- not because it was brazen or mocking, but because it was unexpectedly sweet and mellow. I stared at the woman, and she smiled back with an unexpected flash of dazzling beauty.

"I'm sorry, chick. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just happy to see long-shanks again. It's about time he had some good news, and this is the best kind, isn't it?"

I looked at her blankly. "What news?"

She looked slightly taken aback, and recovered with the skill of an actress. "Why... to be home, I guess. Nothin's better than your own bed of a cold night." She winked at me, showing off a heavily painted eyelid, and laughed again when I blushed. "But aye, you're a young one, aren't you? Didn't even notice you was embarrassed, did he? The lanky fool." She held out a hand, the nails neatly clipped but free of paint. I hesitated before shaking it, but she smiled again when I did.

"I'm Sa... Lilith." I stumbled over my false name in my confusion, but she took it in her stride.

"I'm Hyacinth, but between our good selves, my name is Lolla." She didn't take her hand away, but held it casually like we were sisters. Her voice became confiding. "And if we're to be friends, I'd like you to call me by my real name. I'm not my job, eh?"

I smiled openly at that, and she grinned back and let go of my hand. To my surprise she pulled a small pipe out of her belt purse and started casually packing leaves into the end of it.

"Are we to be friends?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light. She raised a finely shaped eyebrow at me and nodded towards the back of the room, where Numair and another man were talking in hushed voices. I couldn't hear them over the noise of the crowd, but that didn't seem to concern Lolla.

"They'll be talking about your staying here." She said casually. "Your friend sent word ahead. You'll be staying with my girls."

The idea hit me like a pail of cold water. Surely she was wrong- I hadn't agreed to join her girls. I pushed back from the bar and stood up so rapidly the stool rocked on its three legs.

"I never said I was a... he never mentioned... I... I won't be..." I stuttered. Lolla ignored my panic, lighting the end of her pipe from a candle and casually blowing on the leaves until they were embers. She took a puff of the pipe and sighed.

"Well I'm not one to tell you you're a fool," she started, "But you've got totally the wrong idea about our friend there. He's not a pimp or a crook like you seem to think. He's so damn honourable he'd probably try to tip a pickpocket. And trust me, love, not many folks round here are interested in kids your age." She took another draw from the pipe and leaned back against the bar, smiling when I sat back down. "You know, one time he tried to talk me out of the profession? I said, Numair my love, you are talking out of your rear end and no perishin' mistake there. I cannot read; I can't do sums; and heaven help the man who samples my cooking. Cleaning makes my nose itch and washing spoils my nails. No shop'd have me, and animals make me sneeze. I said, here I'm happy enough. I serve beer and look after the girls, and the gentlemen pay my bills." She sat back, story finished, and waited for me to speak.

"You can't read?" I asked, shocked. She laughed suddenly at that, and started coughing when some smoke went down the wrong way.

"Ah, but you're a surprising one. No, duckie. None of us can. That'll be your job, along with the tellin' of things. You read any letters we get, and maybe write some replies. I can't pretend that it'll all be poems and rainbows, so you might want to save up your blushes. And you're here for news. You speak to the street rats, and the market folk, and see what you can find out."

"You mean like... spying?" I asked. She shook her head impatiently, smoke dancing in the air with the motion.

"You'll find this out soon enough, but we're not the most respectable people in the city. There are a fair few people who won't be talking to us. But they'll talk to you, darlin', I have no doubt."

I was thinking that over when Numair came back over. "All settled," he said to both of us. Lolla smiled broadly and nodded, while I tried to smile. The job sounded more devious than simply storytelling, but I guess you can't live off fairy tales forever. Still, the reality of it was slowly sinking in- I was going to be living among strangers again, and this time they were slightly different from the maids I'd shared a room with before. The thought made me nervous. I tried to hide my expression from the others. Lolla and Numair were having a conversation, and I focused on that rather than thinking about being abandoned here.

"You'll be doing your disappearing act, I reckon, then." Lolla said casually. Numair made a gesture that was halfway between a nod and a shrug.

"I have to speak to Jonathan. And there's an unprecedented magical phenomenon I have to research; I don't know if the palace library will have the books I need."

"I see you're as tongue-tied as ever." Lolla's mocking voice should have made the man flush, but he only laughed it off.

"Well, I can come back when..."

"Come back? Do you hear this?" Lolla brought me into the conversation easily with a flamboyant wave of that manicured hand. "See what I mean about him and his lost causes? He'll have us women tied to his apron strings all our lives if we're not careful. Can't keep smotherin' us forever, can he Lil?"

Was I just imagining it, or were those last few words slightly pointed? They seemed to mean something to Numair; he shot Lolla a look. "Surely you're not telling a repeat customer to stay away?"

She shrugged and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. "You only ever buy beer, anyway, you cheapskate." She looked back down and smiled at his expression, softening her voice. "Give her time to settle in, eh? Put down some roots, right Lil?"

"I guess," I said dubiously when they both looked at me. The vague answer was apparently enough for them; Lolla nodded and settled back in her seat, and Numair smiled thinly at her before nodding a goodbye. Before he left, he took my arm and we walked back outside the inn, to the comparative privacy of the street.

"What do you think?" He asked seriously, "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

"Why did you bring me here, then?" I asked bluntly. He leaned against the wall and stared at the swinging sign above our heads.

"It's the safest place for you. Not a thing goes on in the city that they don't know about. There's not a stranger that they don't watch closely. If you're their friend, then they'll guard your steps more closely than the palace guard. Just... watch your coins. Most of them still think pick-pocketing is a skill to be practiced."

"I like Lolla." I said slowly, "I think I could be happy here. Thank you for helping me."

He beamed at the thanks, but I must have still looked worried, because he suddenly stepped forward and gave me a hug. "You'll be fine." He said, and let go just as abruptly. I stared at him blankly as he started to walk away.

"Numair?" I called, my voice uncertain. He looked around, and I smiled at him. "Don't think you have to stay away too long. I... my real name is Sarralyn. Sorry I lied to you."

He grinned and waved a hand dismissively. "Thank you for telling me!"


	9. Numair

I have to conclude that Lolla knows what she's talking about.

It's still annoying, though.

I don't know my own daughter. I should probably accept that. It's so strange, to love someone so unconditionally, and yet have no indication of whom it is that you love. I don't know anything about her. I have a few weeks, weeks where I've tried not to watch her too closely, but where every gesture could be a clue or a hint. A tiny sentence could be an intimation of the shape of her mind, to who she truly is when she isn't hiding behind that mask. I dearly want to know how she thinks, what she likes and dislikes, her favourite colour... all the tiny pieces of trivia that mean nothing to anyone but her. I want to know who she is.

But Lolla's right. I suppose it is slightly creepy.

And besides, I need time to think. She'll be safer with the Rogue than she would be with me. I just can't help feeling jealous of them, of Lolla and Davidd and even the barflies who get peeled off the floor each evening. They get to spend time with her.

Sarralyn told me her real name. She trusts me. The memory still makes me smile. Kitten whistles a question at me when she sees it. Is it that strange for me to be happy? I don't think I'm unhappy. I've always been serious. You just need two people to laugh at a joke, and... no offence to dragon-kind, I'm sure, but reptiles do not possess the capacity to smile.

I can tell when Kit's happy, though. It's hard to compare her to the great dragons we spoke to in their own realm, when she finds such childish amusement in every small thing. She's still so curious she'll chase a moth for hours just to see the colour of its wings, and sniff at the moth dust... and then come back for comfort when the dust starts a sneezing fit, and the moth flutters away so suddenly it startles her.

She is getting bored; I haven't answered her whistle, and she's decided that she doesn't care why I'm smiling. She stalks away to the door, and curls up on the tiles.

She sleeps there now. For the first few days when Daine disappeared, she watched the door constantly, her head tilted to one side as if she was asking the door to kindly produce her guardian, thank you very much. Then, as the weeks passed, she began to glare at the door instead, angry that it was disobeying. Now she sleeps there, head rested in her front paws like a dog, ears twitching at any footstep that walks past. I suppose years aren't worth as much to dragons as they are to humans; in any case, she never seems to doubt that one day, the door will open and Daine will be there.

Of course I can't take her with me when I travel; a dragon would raise far too many questions. But I do sometimes wonder what would happen if I did. I briefly considered the idea that Kit might be able to track Daine, like a sniffer dog... but she follows magic, not scent, and Daine seems to have lost hers. A real dog might work, but if Daine is deliberately hiding then she could probably talk any dog out of betraying her.

If she has her magic. But of course she does; magic doesn't just disappear.

It just seems to have an abominable capacity to disguise itself.

It could be something to do with wild magic. The thought occurred to me almost as soon as I realised Sarralyn was invisible. She asked me if I was making the snakes talk. Daine should have trained her to use her magic, but perhaps she didn't realise there was any magic there. Just like the rest of us, she's been blinded. The books I have on wild magic are few and rather poorly researched, but perhaps they have some piece of information that could solve this. Or maybe it's an actual disguise- a spell cancelling out other magic. I've never heard of such a thing, but I'm sure it is technically possible...

The book is tedious, written in a poor hand, and my mind starts to wander. Why would Daine tell Sarralyn such a horrible story about her birth? I've no doubt that my daughter exaggerated it, but there was too much painful truth in it, for her, to even want to tell it to me.

I was nearly sick when I heard it. I had guessed that telling Sarralyn that I'm her father would be a bad move, but it wasn't until she told me her story that I realised how horrifying her vision of me really is. A vengeful soldier, or some kind of monster who would kill a child as revenge against her mother... and cunning, too, clever enough to bribe hunters and convince a kingdom that her mother is their prey.

But then, I have no doubt that Daine was telling Sarralyn the exact truth when she yelled at her. Sa was right; the words do stick in your mind. But we heard them so differently. She heard her mother telling her that I would kill her. I heard something both full of hope and sickening: Daine wants to come home, but she can't. If she does, Sarralyn will die.

It makes sense. Daine's never been scared to risk her own life, but she would fight to the bitter end to protect Sarralyn. But who would do something like that? And why keep it up for so many years?

Years of nothing, and suddenly there are so many riddles to try to solve that I can't even see how they fit together.

And yet the thought makes me smile again. Years of nothing, and now I have a clue. I have my child back. I have a spell to study. Spells... spells are clues which I can solve. And this one is so unusual that it must be the solution to the other riddles. If I can work out what the spell is doing, then I can break it.

I told Jon as much, when I arrived back at the palace. He congratulated me warmly on finding Sarralyn, but with his own unique undiplomatic bluntness asked, "Daine would never leave her child alone like that. You don't suppose she's..."

I shook my head before he finished the sentence. I've been answering the same question for so many years that it's second nature, but still I hate to hear people spell out the words. When she'd been gone for just a year I was angry, so angry at everyone that people hid from me in the corridors. I suppose I was like Kit- glaring at the door, as if it was somehow to blame. And I did blame everyone. I blamed Daine for running away. I blamed the people in the streets for not having seen anything. I blamed the Scanrans for attacking Tortall. I blamed the priests in the temple, and the gods. I've never stopped blaming myself, for being too blind or too stupid to see whatever it was happening right under my eyes. And I still hate myself for being too slow to work out... whatever this is. Jon summoned me, after weeks of angry arguments, to tell me it might be better if I just gave up. We both knew, he said, that she wouldn't leave voluntarily, and she would come back as soon as she was able. I was obsessed, he said, and it might be time to think about the fact that she might be dead.

"No," I told him. "Even if she is, I still need to find out why. I can't sleep, I barely eat. The answer is right there, and I can't see it. There must be a reason. There must be."

"Sometimes," he said, his voice so gentle I wanted to hit him, "Sometimes there isn't a reason. There just isn't. Can't you accept that?"

"She isn't dead," I remember how stubborn my voice sounded, "I would know."

He didn't ask me how. He raised an eyebrow, as if I was one of his children telling a story, and dismissed me. A few days later he gave me my current job. I suppose he thought, if I was going to be so angry, I should take it out on some criminals. It surprised him when, a few months later, I told him I wanted to keep at the job.

But that's really irrelevant.

She is alive, and I know that for a fact. I reach into my pocket absently and take out the chain, a bracelet too small to fit safely around my wrist, but then I would never dream of misplacing it. I wrap the links around my fingers automatically as I think. She is still alive.

I will find her.

 

  
Sarralyn  
  
Isn't it strange, how time streams past when you're busy? I've never really had a job before. The work at the inn had hardly been that; I realise now that if Merrian hadn't been so besotted with my stories, I'd have been out on the street before the inn had even closed. At the Dove I worked harder than I ever had in my life. Sure, I'd helped gather the harvests in past years, and sometimes mama had managed to find me work with her, cleaning or tending animals. But I'd never been on my own, responsible for my own money and chores, and that was just as tiring as the work.

Weeks drifted by in a sleepless haze, where every time I closed my eyes to rest I felt like the morning raced towards me far too quickly. And slowly I got used to it. There was a routine; I ran chores for Lolla and read letters for anyone who asked, and since Lolla answered to Davidd, who ran the inn, there were always plenty of chores to choose from. And just like I'd been told, one of those chores was to spend every morning at the market, gathering gossip and reporting it back.

You might think that sounds easy, but for the first few days it terrified me. I dreaded the idea that, if I was distracted for even a second, a vital piece of information would slip past me. I was scared I would get lost, and I was equally scared that someone would find me. I hadn't realised how comforting Numair's presence had been until he was gone; suddenly every person started looking like a hunter again.

I know he says that I'm safe here. I want to believe him. I can't. The city's so large, and every morning I'm on my own.

But still, I began to feel at home. What a strange thing to be able to say! I made friends with the people who ran the stalls at the market, and joked with them about stupid things- setting up downwind from the temples so the incense would drown out the smell of bad food, or trying to find a place as far away from the busking minstrels as possible. I listened in on their gossip, and the stories they told each other, and soon knew many of them by name.

But this is all pointless. Talking about markets and gossip and working hard... those are things that anyone can say. The important thing is, today was the day that I met Jak.

Ah, Jak. His hair is a light brown, like Lolla's roasted leaves, and his smile is bright and even. If I was telling one of my stories I would say that he was a handsome stranger, who appeared out of the sunrise and stole my heart away. I'm afraid the truth is much more mundane; I fell over him in the marketplace.

Well, it was his fault. He may be handsome, but he doesn't know where to put his clumsy feet! It's quite sweet, though, the way that he's always having to apologise for his awkwardness. Did I imagine it, when he picked me up from the cobbles, or did his hands linger on my waist before he let me go? He looked away when he apologised, embarrassed, and it was a few moments before I even noticed the ladies cackling behind their stalls. His eyes are blue...

We spoke... oh, I can't really remember what we said. Stupid nothing-introductions and awkward jokes about the market. But I can remember the moment when our eyes finally met, and we both started laughing until the awkwardness fell away. He's a courier. His accent is not the rough Corus one, but something more akin to my own lilt. We have that in common, too. After a while he asked if I'd like a drink- some juice- as an apology for his plough-horse feet.

I blushed and nodded, and he folded my hand into the crook of his arm as if he'd practiced the movement all his life. The gesture was so cliché, as if I'd made it up in a story, but it made my breath catch in my throat even as I laughed, embarrassed. We had barely taken ten steps, though, before a heavy hand clapped onto my shoulder. I looked around, and recognised the man who had stopped us as one of the men who throws unruly customers out of the Dove. He looked stern- pretty much his normal expression, but I'd never had it directed at me before.

"Lilith," he said, his voice rumbling from somewhere near his feet, "You'n supposed to be workin'."

" I..." I flushed angrily, embarrassed at being told off in front of Jak, "I've earned some time off. I'm not a slave."

"No," he said, unperturbed, "But Lolla's askin' for you."

I wished for a bolt of lightning to strike him down. It didn't. Instead, Jak silently let go of my hand, and his surrender made me lose my temper. I pulled away from the man's hold and glared at him, resisting the urge to stamp my foot. "Tell Lolla she can stuff her damned letters."

"Sarralyn," Jak said, his voice soothing, "It's okay. We can talk later."

I couldn't look at him. He nodded to my captor once and walked off, not looking back. I stared at the ground, listening to his footsteps as they faded into the market sounds. I was pretty sure that was the last time I'd ever speak to Jak, or even be near him. If I was him I'd cross to the other side of the street to avoid the strange girl with the guardian bear.

"Why did he call you Sar'lyn?" the bear asked, in what I guess was his nonchalant voice. I blinked and looked up. As flustered as I was to speak to Jak, I must have told him my real name. I shrugged, angry again at this mountain-shaped man and his interfering.

"Were you following me?" I demanded instead of answering. He nodded and shrugged in one gesture. "Did Lolla tell you to do it?"

He didn't answer. He stayed silent until he had escorted me back to the inn, and then he disappeared into one of the dark corridors and left me. No-one spared me more than a glance; they had plenty of time to get used to me, and now nobody would bat an eyelid at me. I glared around the bar until I could see Lolla, and stomped over to her. She sat bolt upright at her table, her eyes widening at my expression.

"Lilith, what are you doing here..?" She started. I interrupted her, my voice shrill in the suddenly-silent inn.

"Did you tell that man to follow me?" I tried to catch my breath and couldn't, mortified and furious in equal parts. "Did you tell him to..?"

"Yes... yes, of course I did!" She looked bewildered, her eyes made large by kohl and larger by her shocked reaction. She gasped in a rapid breath when I kicked a chair over, and made a soothing motion with her hands. "Lilith, what's wrong? What happened, sweetie?"

"Don't call me that!" I caught my breath and started pacing, hands clenched at my sides. "He spoiled it! I've never spoken to anyone like that before, and now he's never going to speak to me again, and it's all your fault..!"

She blinked at me, and then, unbelievably, started laughing! At me! "Oh dear, duckie. What's his name?"

"Jak... and... it's-not-funny!" I gritted my teeth to stop tears from springing in my eyes. A few escaped anyway, and I dashed them away. "Did Numair tell you to do it? I bet he did."

"He asked us to make sure you were safe..." she started. I nodded, bitter words pouring out of me like tears.

"I can look after myself! And there's a hag-damned lot of difference between protecting me and stopping me from making friends! Or are you determined to protect my feelings, too? And how about my maidenhead? Somehow I can't see you caring about that. Or is it just the boys without money that you'll be protecting me from?"

She stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed. Her voice had lost its lightness when she answered me. "Careful what you say, miss."

Say? I couldn't say anything else, not after that. My throat felt like it was burning, and when I tried to say another word I burst into tears. I stumbled away, up the stairs to my room, and threw myself on my bed. I cried until the pillow was soaked. At that moment, I honestly wouldn't have cared if I never saw any of them again.

Perhaps I might even have run away, if Jak hadn't had other plans. He slipped through the window so silently I thought I was imagining him. I stared at him through red-rimmed eyes, expecting him to vanish. He put a finger to his lips.

"Shh," he said, "I followed you here. I said we'd speak later, right?" He winked, and grinned when he saw my expression. "Surprised?"

I nodded, still half-convinced that I'd fallen asleep. He sat down next to me on the bed and brushed a stray tear from one cheek, his fingers tender. I shivered at the touch despite myself, and the corner of his mouth turned up.

"Are you crying over me, darlin'?" He asked. There was something strange about his voice- some hidden depth to it I couldn't understand. I nodded again, and he looked away for a moment, embarrassed. "I'm not worth that, Sarralyn."

Some thought niggled at the back of my head. This seemed so unreal- who would follow me home, and break in to my room, after just a few minutes conversation? It was like a whirlwind romance, or a fairy tale... and because it seemed so unreal, the few real moments we'd had together crystallised in my mind. His hand lingered on my cheek, fingertips tracing the path that the stray tear had taken, and I couldn't pull my distracted thoughts together.

"How... I didn't tell you my name." I whispered, a cold feeling suddenly creeping into my veins. He smiled, and this time the strangeness in his expression was opaque, blossoming into a few cruel lines in those perfect eyes.

"No, darlin', you didn't." He leaned closer, and when I tried to pull away he grabbed my wrist. My movements were so sluggish... I realised in a wave of panic that his gentle fingertips had been casting some magic on me. He was so close to me that I could see the cold grey glint of the gift in his eyes. "But, darlin', I do know your dear mama."

I opened my mouth to scream, to breathe something that wasn't the cloying drug of his gift, but sleep crashed over me like the tide, and all I could do was drown in it.


	10. Sarralyn

"I'm supposed to kill you." He must have realised I was awake; he started talking the second I opened my eyes. My memory comes flooding back. The idea that he's been watching me sleep makes me want to retch. Shivering and terrified, I fight the urge to throw up. I won't give him the satisfaction. I won't. He keeps talking. "Does that surprise you? I suppose not."

I won't answer him, either. I close my eyes again. Staring around the room won't help me- it's too dark, and my eyes are too foggy with sleep to see clearly. I don't need to move. I can start planning without seeing. I try to work out what's going on. I'm lying on the ground- no, not the ground, it's floorboards, I can feel the warm roughness of the wood under my cheek. But not clean floorboards. I can feel the softness of dirt, and when I smell the air my nose tickles with the smell of crumbling, rotten straw. It could be an old storehouse, or a barn. I don't remember seeing any abandoned buildings in the city. He must have taken me away. I wonder how.

My hands are tied behind my back. I move them slightly, and the thin rope scratches my wrists. It feels greasy- tarred, I guess. It's not likely to break or unravel, then. My shoulders are pulled back painfully, one side numb from where I've been lying on it. When I try to move, pins-and-needles shoot all the way down to my wrist.

"Your feet are tied, too." If anything, Jak sounds bored. I try... try to ignore him. I have to think. I'm clever; I can think of a way out of this. I try...

I can't move. When I decided not to move I was fine, but now I feel trapped. I can't move. Not just my feet; my knees are tied together too. I can't move... I'm so trapped...

I try to take an even breath, to calm my racing mind down, but it hitches in my throat. I try to think, I try... if I... I could.

Oh Goddess, Oh Mithros and Mother, help me. I'm so scared. I can't do anything. I'm going to die. He's going to kill me. Help me...

I have to open my eyes. The darkness crushes me. I can't think in the dark. I open them, and the first thing I see is Jak. In the gloom of a single candle, his face is pitted with shadows. His eyes are the same ones my heart skipped a beat over this morning, so normal and so clear, but... the way he looks at me now is so different... not with hatred or anger, but with utter indifference.

He's holding a knife.

My breath catches in my throat and I try to get away, pushing with my knees as if I could wriggle faster than he could catch me. He doesn't move. He doesn't move a muscle. I can't move, not even when I struggle with all my strength against the ropes and scream and cry and beg him to let me go. He doesn't move.

I can't help it. Terror washes over me in a poisonous wave, and I'm sick. I can't even move enough to do more than roll onto one shoulder so it doesn't choke me.

"You know, you're kind of disappointing." His voice has no right to sound so... normal. I roll onto my back so I can't see him, hot tears streaming from the corners of my eyes. I can't even raise my hands to wipe them away. I shriek and jerk my head away when I feel his fingers on my face. The gesture had seemed so loving... when? A few hours ago? A day? I'd rather be scratched by a hurrock now. He snorts a single laugh and traces the shape of my face with his fingertips, ignoring my useless squirming.

"Your ma was pathetic, too." He says idly. "I expected more, to be honest. But at least when she was kidnapped she fought back."

I can't stop myself from blurting out, "Mama- you didn't..?"

His fingers still for a moment, and his voice is sharp. "No. Are you an idiot, as well as a coward? I wouldn't dare kidnap her. No, I meant Ozorne. You know, the emperor? My da used to tell me such stories..." his voice drifts into something more distant. I think I know the stories he's talking about. The emperor is like a monster from the past, and everyone knows how he started the war. I didn't know that he kidnapped Mama, though. I didn't even know she'd ever left Tortall.

My eyes widen at what Jak says next. He's not just a kidnapper, I think, he's completely mad. His fingers are back on my face, tracing the outlines of my eye sockets. He ignores my shudder and keeps speaking, his voice an odd singsong.

"Here she is, the daughter of the wildmage and the black mage. She has the look of her ma, but those are her da's eyes. They say that her parents had no fear, but she looks terrified. I suppose you didn't inherit courage from them, Sarralyn. Never mind, I'm sure you have other qualities. It's just so disappointing, truly it is. But it doesn't matter that you're pathetic, I suppose. Even if you can't measure up to them, your parents will pay dearly to get you back."

"You're going to... to ransom me?" I croak, completely bewildered. I don't want to talk him out of it, since to be ransomed I'd have to be alive..! But the idea of what might happen to me when his demands are laughed at makes the words jump from my lips uncalled. "Jak, my parents aren't... they don't... they... wait!" A stray thought makes me gasp and stare at him, wild-eyed, "You mean my da didn't send you? You're not a hunter?"

"Hunter?" His eyes narrow, and he spits on the floor. "I'm an assassin. A freelancer. I don't shoot any rotten rabbits."

I start laughing helplessly. The laughter may sound like sobs to him, and tears start from my eyes, but I can't stop it. He looks bewildered, then angry, and shakes me to make me stop.

"Shut up!" He demanded, short in his temper, "What's so funny? Why would the black mage send hunters after you?"

I find my voice in the sick mirth. "First, my da is not the black mage. That's... that's just a made-up person in a story for little babies. And you can try to ransom me if you like, but ma has no money and, if he didn't send you, then I guess my da doesn't know I'm even here. If he did I'd already be dead."

"Don't goad me, Sarralyn." Jak's voice turns ugly. "I was sent to kill you. Lying to me will just make that easier. I'm doing you a favour, keeping you alive. You should be thanking me, not lying."

"Lying? You're the one who thinks I'm the daughter of the hagged-damned pixies!" I laugh again. I'm not even being brave now; my head spins as if I'm drunk, and the words are spoken with wild abandon. I can't stop laughing, or crying, or...

Through the tears I see Jak's face twist with anger. He raises his hand as if he's going to hit me, and the palm drips with the colour of his gift. This time the sleeping spell tears through my mind like an blade, ripping my thoughts apart and dashing them into darkness.

Darkness...

I slept.

I didn't even dream.

But the darkness passed; I could feel each star as it appeared in the night sky. I could hear the birds calling the dawn chorus. And I could hear the strange, soft whittering which finally pulled me out of that sleep.

I wake up.

This time when I open my eyes, Jak is gone and the room is lit up with a soft, dusty light from the high windows. I gaze around- I was right, it is an old barn. I've been left in a corner like a sack of grain. The room is full of old crates and barrels, and if it wasn't for the high ceiling I'd not have guessed I wasn't in a cupboard somewhere.

The whittering sound happens again, and I peer around for its source. Something brushes against my fingertips, and I gasp and yank them towards my back. There's an annoyed squeak- a mouse! I must have sent the poor thing flying. I'm sorry, I think, feeling guilty.

There's another squeak, and the mouse whitters again. To my surprise I feel it climb back into my hands, its paws prickling my palms as it climbs up. I freeze. The thing could be rabid. It could be some tame mouse someone's let escape.

It must be some kind of genius mouse. I feel an odd sensation, and realise that one of the coils of rope around my wrist is suddenly looser. It's chewing through the twine! I hold my breath, hoping against hope that it doesn't give up. It squeaks, and jumps down, chattering encouragingly. I strain against the rope. For a second, nothing happens... and then it snaps.

I sit up so quickly I feel dizzy and start unpicking the knots around my legs, ignoring my aching shoulders as blood starts flowing back into them. As soon as my feet are free the mouse squeaks again, and then it darts off into the maze of crates. I hesitate- it's going further back into the hall, and away from where the door should be. But it stops and squeaks again, and I follow it.

After a few feet it vanishes under a stack, and when I peer after it I see that the wall behind it is rotten. A section of it has broken away, just large enough for me to crawl through and out of this place. I scramble through, shaking in my haste to escape. Stones cut into my hands from the soil, and branches from the bush tear at my hair, but I ignore them. The mouse is nowhere to be seen; when I get to the edge of the bush and look out nervously I spot it streaming off through the grass towards a copse of trees. I take a deep breath and run after it, stumbling as my traitor legs shake under me, knowing that at any moment I'll be spotted, killed...

And then I'm safe in the trees, and I can hide again. I fall to the ground, more from relief than weakness, and gasp in the fresh air. Free...

The mouse squeaks, but not at me. It runs up towards the woman in the trees, and she picks it up easily. I jump at seeing the figure, small and ghost-like in the rough green veil of a priestess. Then she pushes the veil aside with familiar impatience, and smiles shakily at me.

"Mama," I breathe, barely able to believe it. "Oh, mama..."

She's beside me in three steps and hugs me, gripping me so tightly that my bruised shoulders hurt again. "Sweetheart," she says, kissing my cheek. "I'm so, so sorry I didn't get here sooner. Are you hurt?"

"No, I... I don't think so." I blink at her, still stunned. She grips my hand tightly, and pushes my hair back from my face with her other hand. Her fingers brush across the weal there, making me jump. I hadn't realised that Jak had actually hit me. Ma's lips thin in silent fury. For a second, in my weary delirium, I imagine I can see a dark shadow at her feet. I stare at it numbly.

"I'm sorry to ask you this," Ma's eyes have a strange purpose I've not seen before, and she looks around constantly. "But... can you run? I thought we'd have more time."

"Are you a priestess now, ma?" I ask giddily. She scowls and pushes the veil back irritably.

"Answer my question, miss, if you please. Can you run?"

"Is he coming back?" I try to pick myself up from the ground. The trees spin around me. The shadow at mama's side snaps at me, with teeth as black as its body and eyes and paws...

"Probably. I didn't want to risk attacking him, not when he had you. A prisoner is too easily a hostage." There it is again- that strange sense of purpose in her voice. I've not heard her speak like this before. How does she know about hostages? "I would do something, but..." her voice drifts off. If she had spoken like that when I was a child I would have heard her indecisiveness as fear. Now I can clearly hear the anger which runs under the words.

I can't make myself do anything but shiver. If she wants me to run, I won't be able to.

The shadow creeps closer to me, away from her, and to my surprise Mama looks straight at it. I guess I'm not imagining it, then. The creature snarls, dripping black saliva which doesn't even moisten the ground where it falls. I want to ask, what is that thing? But mama looks back from it to me, her face a mixture of disgust and relief, and I can see that she's made a decision. A few months ago she'd have told me in a few brisk words what we would do; now she tries to explain. I still don't understand. She's abandoning me. She sees the fear in my eyes and tries to look reassuring. She's not very good at it.

"When I found out where he'd taken you I left them a message. They...they're coming to find you. You'll be fine... I have to go." She gently pushes away my hands when I instinctively grab at her. Instead of more words, she draws her belt knife and pushes it into my right hand, closing my fingers around the hilt. "Just in case," she assures me, and kisses me rapidly on the forehead.

"Mama..." I can't stop myself from pleading with her. She hesitates again, and looks at the creature as if it holds some answers.

"You..." she starts, and then shakes her head impatiently and starts again, the words rapid. "You met someone, right? A tall man, with dark hair?"

The creature snarls, the warning sound a wolf makes before it strikes, and ma flinches from it. I nod, wide-eyed.

"What is his name?" Her eyes are intense, for all that they keep flickering back to her shadow. I have no idea what's going on, but answer her. When I tell her Numair's name her eyes close briefly, as if she's praying to...well, to whichever goddess likes the colour green.

"Ma, do you know him?" I ask, bewildered. She nods, eyes still shut, and when she opens them again they look too bright, as if she's holding back tears.

"Sweet, you can trust him. I can't tell you any more than that. It..." she looks at the shadow, and shrugs, "It's against the rules. But... trust him. Talk to him. Tell him everything. And for the Hag's sake, if you don't know something then don't make some fantasy up." She smiles shakily, kisses me, and runs off in a blur of green. The creature makes a disappointed snort, snaps at me once, and then bounds after her. The trees swallow them up.

And then, suddenly, there is silence. The leaves sigh in the wind, but there's nothing else.

Everything is green, and peaceful...

I struggle to keep awake. My head aches horribly, and the trees seem to dance. The world drifts...

The sound of footsteps in the grass makes me jump. I peer around the edge of the tree trunks, watching Jak stomping through the field. Apparently he isn't a very good tracker; his own footprints crushed my own before he thought to look for my trail. But the sight of him makes me hold my breath, terrified that he might look up and see me...

"Sarralyn!"

The call makes me jump as much as Jak does. In that second, he sees me. His eyes narrow, but before he makes a move towards me someone calls my name again- closer, this time. He hesitates, looking towards the voices.

"Here- I'm here!" I shout as loudly as I can, which wasn't much, if I'm honest. The effort makes my head spin again, and I shut my eyes to ward off the dizziness. When I open them again, Jak is gone.


	11. Sarralyn

I woke up, and for a horrible moment I thought I was in that storehouse again. There was a weight on my shoulders and my arms ached. I struggled to wake up, blearily pushing off the weight, and it was only when I felt the softness of cloth against my hands that I realised I was fighting off a blanket.

Figures. I thought, I couldn't save myself from a kidnapper, but I can cursed-well fight off a piece of cloth! I couldn't help remembering that the first time Mama saw me after I declared I could take on the world by myself, I was as useless as a kitten. No, more useless. It was a mouse that rescued me, after all, not a cat. What's frailer than a mouse?

My shoulders felt bruised from being tied, and there were rope burns on my wrists. I could see them, red and swollen, when I pushed myself upright. I was in a room I didn't recognise, having fought off a blanket that was not my own. The curtains were pulled shut, but the soft greyish light of the early morning seeped through the edges. The room spun, and when I rested my head in my hands I could feel the softness of a bandage under my fingertips. When I tentatively touched the wound it tingled with the odd warmth of a magical healing.

I couldn't remember being healed. But then, since I didn't know where I was, there must have been a lot of things I'd slept through. I wondered why they only healed my head, and then bit my lip at the selfish thought. Healers are expensive, after all. Lolla probably had to cut my wages for the next month to afford any healing at all.

I swung my legs around to stand up, and froze. There was a... a something... curled up on the floor. Not a dog or a cat, but some kind of lizard. I held my breath. It hadn't seen me yet. Maybe if I stayed very still, it wouldn't realise I was here. I must have made some noise though- a gasp, perhaps- because it shifted in its sleep. It uncurled a long neck and yawned, stretching its paws forwards like a sleepy dog. I gaped at it.

Dragon. It's a dragon. For some reason, a dragon is asleep on the floor.

No- not the floor. A cushion. A very comfortable dragon, then, is asleep on a cushion, on the floor.

Perhaps it was the dragon's room. I hoped it didn't mind my being there. It stopped stretching and climbed to its feet, blinking blearily at the room. When it caught sight of me it whistled and bounded, like an excited puppy, to put its head in my lap. I half-shrieked and shoved it off.

The dragon's manic glee faded, and it looked confused for a moment. With a movement that I would have sworn was a shrug if it hadn't come from a dragon, it turned away and grabbed its cushion in its teeth. I waited, expecting it to tear the thing to shreds, but instead it carefully dragged it to a low shelf and stored it there, nudging it safely in place with its nose. Then it turned around again.

This time it walked up to me slowly, and stopped before it was too close. It tilted its head to one side, asking me a question. I remembered the sharp silver teeth I saw biting the cushion, and thought about how they hadn't even left a mark in the cloth. Now that it was moving slowly, the dragon wasn't that scary. I reached out a hand to it, barely believing it when the immortal nuzzled its head against my fingertips. Its scales were warm and soft, not at all like I would have imagined.

"I thought you dragons were supposed to sleep on piles of treasure?" I whispered. The dragon made a scoffing noise and then looked fondly in the direction of the cushion. The action made me smile. "Yes, you're right- that does look more comfortable!"

Perhaps I'm still asleep, I thought. It certainly seemed like a dream.

I still had no idea where I was, though. The dragon started looking towards the door and back to me. We'd apparently had the same idea. I told it that I couldn't go exploring in a nightshirt, and it immediately ran to the shelf and whistled at something there- my bag.

Fine. So, whoever brought me here also went to the 'Dove and got my things. I guess it wasn't the dragon.

Even if this was a dream, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. I took out my travelling clothes rather than one of the dresses I wore at the Dove. If I decided to leave, I was going to make sure I could disappear as easily as possible. Dresses are too easy to snag on things. Even if my legs wobbled when I stood up, at least they wouldn't get tangled in cloth.

The dragon whistled at me impatiently as I tied my belt-purse on. It had been pacing by the door since I stood up. I opened the door tentatively, and nearly gasped at the room on the other side.

I hadn't seen my room properly in the half-light, but this room had no curtains to hold the dawn at bay. The light streamed through the windows- glass windows! They were deep-set in the stone walls. Instead of curtains, the windows had painted shutters which stood open. The paint wasn't gaudy like the shutters the mountain folk favoured, but simple colours which matched the doors and the walls. The room was large enough to hold a solid wooden table and a few comfortable-looking chairs. But what was really astonishing about the room was that it was full of books. They were everywhere. On the table, on the shelves, on the chairs... even strewn carelessly on the floor. It was a king's ransom in paper and ink.

I forgot that I was trying to work out where I was, and picked up the nearest book. It had an embossed cover, and when I opened the first page it was gorgeously illuminated. I couldn't work out what it was talking about at all; for a book that was so beautifully illustrated, the writer seemed to want to use as many boring words as possible! I stopped trying to read it, but couldn't bear to put the beautiful thing back on the floor. Strangely, most of the shelves were completely empty. I supposed whoever had been reading the books wasn't good at putting them back where they belonged.

So, I decided to tidy up. But it was difficult- so difficult- because every book that I picked up might have had a thousand new stories in it. I couldn't resist peeking into each one before I put it back on the shelf. Most of them seemed to be books on magic.

Now, who did I know who would live in such a wealthy home, and who would be so interested in magic? Of course, I had worked out whose home I was in. But some part of me didn't want to admit that, so I didn't think about it. If I started thinking about that, I'd have to start thinking about why he owned a dragon, and why he would have brought me here. I'd have to start thinking about what Jak had said. The thought of remembering anything about Jak made me feel sick. So I didn't.

I concentrated on the books. Or I tried. When they were all tidied away I curled up on one of the chairs and read one of the more interesting ones. The dragon jumped up and curled up in my lap, winning the cushion by jabbing me with its elbows every time it shifted. When it was comfortable it fell back asleep, purring lazily when I stroked its head.

The door clicked, and the dragon's head snapped upright so quickly it sent the book flying. It made an apologetic noise, and whistled an odd sound to Numair when he walked through.

"Why do you sound sad, Dragon?" I asked it quietly. It made the shrugging motion again and rested its head against my chest affectionately.

"I'm not who she was expecting," Numair explained. I panicked for a split second, wondering if he'd be angry I moved his books, but when he noticed the neat room he smiled. "You'll have to forgive me, I always forget to tidy. I believe the maids have given up on me."

"This is the palace?" I asked. He nodded and put down the bag he was carrying. When he opened it and took out a fresh loaf of bread I suddenly realised I was starving. My stomach rumbled so loudly that the dragon sat up, startled at the sound. When she sniffed the bread she jumped down from my lap, but to my surprise she didn't run to the food but stayed close, looking at me beseechingly.

"I tried to take her with me when I went to get food, but she wouldn't leave you," Numair said, his voice apologetic. "I'm sorry if she scared you. She won't hurt you, I promise."

The dragon made an annoyed noise- the very idea! I smiled at her and scratched her head. "What's her name?"

He looked away, and then busied himself looking for a knife. If the rest of his home was in the same state as his bookshelves I wouldn't have been surprised if he ended up trying to break the bread with a hammer. "You already know her name," he said, "It's the first thing you ever told me."

And there it was. Not an admission, but as close to the truth as we'd ever been. I stared at him blankly, and then started laughing.

"You..." I started, and then had to smother another giggle. "You're the black mage? You?"

He handed me a piece of bread and sat down in the other chair, his eyes wary. "Well, it's an interesting question, isn't it? If you mean, am I the legendary hero that people tell stories about, then certainly not. I can't fly without shape shifting, and I can't level whole armies just by glaring at them. Although I do like some of the descriptions, I have to admit. Very flattering."

The dragon- Skysong, I guess- made a rude squawk at that, and he pulled a face at her. When he looked back at me he noticed I wasn't eating and gestured at the food.

"Eat." He said gently, "You must be starving."

I picked at the bread and gave a piece to the dragon. As hungry as I was, I couldn't bring myself to eat it. All my words had tangled up in a lump in my throat, and were so painful that I couldn't leave them unspoken.

"Can...can I tell you what happened?" I asked.

"You don't have to," He told me, without the quickness most people would dismiss the idea with. I guess he had a look of practice speaking to people like that- it must be part of his job. The thought silenced me for long minutes, but when I started speaking I found that the words came out easily.

I told Numair everything that had happened- even the argument that I'd had with Lolla, and my stupid besotted thoughts about Jak. I told him about waking up in that building, and the things that my kidnapper had told me. He listened in silence, asking a few questions whenever I stumbled over the story, but not saying anything more than that. I didn't look up to see his face- I didn't want to think of him thinking badly of me, but so much of what had happened was my fault that I knew he would blame me. I hesitated before telling him about my rescue, and in the end told him that the twine had frayed on its own, letting me escape.

"I remember calling out to you in the woods, and then," I shrugged. "I woke up here. What happened?"

"I thought you'd be safer here. I should never have left you alone in the first place," I wondered if I just imagined the bitterness in his voice, because it quickly changed to an angrier tone. "That maggot ran off down-river, we think. We couldn't find his tracks. So I brought you home. The healer couldn't make his magic work well on you, so we thought it best to just let you sleep."

I mulled this over. There were a lot of things in that story that my muddled mind couldn't really concentrate on, but one thing stood out. "You didn't catch him? He's still out there? But I thought that was what you do!"

"Some of the men from the Dove are still looking. They're furious that you were taken from their headquarters so easily. But no, I'll not be joining them. I was too angry to think clearly- to help them- and it's more important that you're safe than that he's punished... at present." His expression darkened, and for a second I could see why Jak was scared of him. "If they find him before I have a chance to, they've promised to bring me back his ears."

"Good." I said, and was surprised by the lightness in my own voice. We were talking about maiming someone, and my first thought was: "Good. We can have one each."

He darted a look at me, surprised out of his dark mood, and abruptly laughed. I frowned, thinking he was mocking me, but he shook his head in an explanation before I could say anything.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Sometimes you really do remind me of someone else."

I tried to smile with him, but the word made a sudden chill run down my spine. Sweetheart. It was the word which Mama had used for me, and suddenly I wondered where she was. I wasn't even sure if she'd really been there- but I don't think my imagination would have summoned details as bizarre as the green veil of a priestess, and a strange creature made out of shadows. Remembering the creature bounding after her, teeth slathered with strange watery darkness, made me feel ill. It was a strange feeling, as if someone had tied a string to my heart and pulled it tightly away from me. When I shut my eyes, I could almost see the dark glowing cord piercing my chest.

I didn't have a clue what the creature was, but I knew instinctively that it was dangerous. I wondered if the people blundering about looking for Jak would be able to see it. I wondered if it was some strange kind of immortal that had attached itself to mama- in the same way that mice and birds had always done. I wondered why it felt so evil.

Was that what mama wanted me to tell Numair about? How could I even begin to describe it?

I decided that if I was going to tell him anything, I should start by telling him why I was kidnapped. It was odd that he didn't seem to care whyeverything had happened. The man was leaving me to my thoughts, taking yet more books out of his bag and storing them on the table. He didn't even look curious. His silence annoyed me.

"You should have told me who you are." My voice was very quiet, very bitter. It sounded like it was coming from another person. "He... Jak... he kidnapped me because of you. He was going to ransom me. He must have seen us together. He...he thought you were my da."

"I am."


	12. Numair

"I am," I said.

Sarralyn blinked at me, barely noticing Kit's concerned chirp at her sudden stillness. "No," she said. "No, you're not. You can't be."

How did I think she'd react? I don't think I'd thought it through. But I had to tell her. I knew that, when I brought her home. I had hoped it wouldn't be this soon, though. She'd only been awake a few hours, sleeping off a healing after that weasel of a brat had almost crushed her skull. Why had I blurted those words out?

I realised the mistake I'd made in the same amount of time it took for all the colour to drain from Sarralyn's face. She blinked at me once- twice- still not completely believing. Perhaps she saw the truth in my face, or saw the anger I felt at myself for speaking out like an idiot, but she suddenly moved so rapidly that Kitten had to leap out of the way to escape being trodden on. One moment she was sitting down, the next she was running for the door. I grabbed her without thinking, almost having to catch her when her legs gave way under her.

"You idiot," I told her, exasperated, "You've not eaten for three days! Where did you think you were going?"

"Away," she whispered, her eyes terrified. "Let me go, please, please..."

"I'm not going to hurt you!" I couldn't help being sharp with her, "Why would you think that? By Mynoss, if I wanted to kill you, why wouldn't I have done it months ago?"

When I let her go she sank to the floor, visibly shaking, and I tried to bite back my sharp words. She'd been taught to be afraid of me all her life. She probably didn't even look this terrified when she was kidnapped, for Shakith's sake. I searched desperately for something that might calm her down, or at least convince her that I wasn't trying to kill her. I sat down on the floor next to her and pretended not to notice when she pushed herself further away.

"Who do you think told me where you were?" I asked eventually, going for the logical approach. She wrapped her arms around her knees defensively and stared at me, black eyes accusing and fearful. Kitten whistled at her and tried to climb into her lap, and gave up when Sarralyn ignored her. I took the badger claw out of my pocket and handed it out to my daughter, putting it on the floor between us when she flinched away from it. "Do you recognise this?"

Yes, said the flicker of her eyes towards it. Kitten made a delighted noise, recognising the claw, and looked up towards the door as if Daine would surely follow it in.

"No, Kit." I said as evenly as I could, "Not today. She can't come back today."

"You stole it," Sarralyn whispered, guessing wildly. I shook my head.

"From whom would I steal it? I haven't seen your mother for years. And you know as well as I do that she would never, ever let anyone take this from her." I picked it up again, watching the claw swing on the end of the chain and wondering at the strangeness of seeing the thing again. "A messenger boy delivered it to me, and told me where you were. Perhaps Daine thought I wouldn't believe him, if I didn't have some proof." I smiled at the thought, and put the claw back down. "She knows me so well."

"Knew." The word was flat, but definitely barbed. I looked up sharply, seeing with relief that some colour had crept back into Sarralyn's cheeks. She picked up the claw and held it for a second before putting it in her own pocket, with a finality that dared me to argue with her taking it. She kept talking, her voice still oddly flat. "You knew each other. You don't know anything. And now you're happy because you've managed to find me, and she managed to rescue me, and all without either of you saying a word to each other. You must really hate each other."

"No... no, sweetheart, that's not right..."

"Don't call me that." The flatness disappeared; she spoke with barely contained fury. "What right have you got? Oh, Mama told me to trust you. Did you know that? She said I should tell you everything. But I don't see why I should. You both seem to like keeping secrets from me. Both of you are as bad as each other."

"But," I started, and waited to see if she'd interrupt again before I spoke, "But Sarralyn, she told you everything. It's how I knew who you were. All those stories you tell. The people, and the places, and... and Kit... they're all the truth."

She blinked, then threw up her hands, wincing as it made her shoulders ache. "Great! So I live inside a nursery rhyme! Well, I'm reassured."

"No, I mean it." I said earnestly, "I think she told you those stories on purpose."

"Well, good for you. I'm glad that everything I know is a story, so you can play whatever game is going on between you. It might have been nice if one of you had told me, y'know, Oh, by the way, I'm really the black mage and I own a real dragon and all those vague comments about my wife were really about the wildmage ..."

"Please don't." I rubbed my forehead, trying to think. Sarralyn stood up shakily, barely noticing that Kit was circling her feet making worried noises.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't. I'm not going to tell you anything. I won't play this stupid game." She turned to storm back to her room, and then paused to look down at me. Her voice was hurt beyond belief. "Did you know that she cries in her sleep? Do you even care about that? I can't believe that you've let this go on for so long. It's cruel."

She stopped speaking suddenly. Perhaps she realised that she'd said too much, or that her savage words had hurt me. Either way, I couldn't look at her. The idea that Sarralyn thought I was somehow keeping us apart on purpose hurt, but the sudden knowledge that Daine was so unhappy hit me like a blow from a sword.

I had hoped that she was happy. I'd hoped that she'd found some new life, or found something else to care about. I could bury myself in my work and my books when my thoughts blackened, but Daine had always carried her heart on her sleeve.

Sarralyn was right. It was cruel.

I felt might hands curl into fists, the nails biting into my palms. Cruel. Whoever had done this to her... to them... would suffer when I caught them. I'd imagined finding them for years- a strange, shadowy form who had stolen my family away- but I suddenly, sickeningly, wanted them to burn for it. It was a horrible, violent wave of emotion, and something in me revelled in it. Let them hang. Let them suffer. Let them burn...

"You're bleeding," The words were little more than a whisper- tentative and scared. But they snapped me out of my rage. I hadn't seen my daughter move, but she had taken one of my hands and tried to uncurl it from its fist. I blinked, and noticed dully that my nails had drawn blood.

"Don't... don't worry." I said, drawing my hand away. "It's only blood."

She looked away biting her lip. "I'm sorry. I'm angry. I say stupid, stupid things when I'm angry. I'm sure you... that you..." She shrugged, giving up. "Well, I'm not sure of anything if I'm honest. But I was wrong to say you didn't care. I'm sorry."

I smiled humourlessly, accepting the apology, and asked her to eat the bread I'd given her earlier. This time she did, eating in silence while I forced myself to calm down. It was ridiculous- we were both arguing because we both knew nothing about what had happened all those years ago. But I knew things Sarralyn didn't, and she knew things that I didn't. If we could speak to each other, not shout, we might work something out.

So I started talking, and because I'm no good at telling stories the words tumbled out in a mess. Sarralyn looked up with silent eyes, and even if the words were disordered, at least she was listening to them.

"I love your mother." I said, "More than I could ever describe. More than I ever told her. We were at war. Not just us, but the country, and the immortals, and the gods... and when one war finished the next one started, when Scanra attacked. But... we were happy. I know that you've never lived through battles, or sieges, but it was our world. We were happy to have each other, to have something precious and beautiful when the whole world was covered in dirt and blood. I'm sorry-" I laughed shortly, "I'm not making much sense."

Sarralyn blinked, and shrugged. Her voice was quite quiet when she said, "I understand. Go on."

I looked at my hands for a moment, wincing at the crescent-shaped cuts in each palm. "Well... we wouldn't have brought a child into that world, not on purpose, it's too dangerous. We didn't plan it, but when Daine found out she was expecting you, we were overjoyed.

But we had to keep you a secret. You made us vulnerable, you see. Daine had been kidnapped before by a man who wanted to try to get power over me, and we knew that our enemies were always trying to find weaknesses in our armies. If they knew that Daine couldn't fight, or that I would be away from the front lines, they would have brought reinforcements from every corner of their country to attack that weak spot. So we only told our friends, and when you were due to be born we came back to Corus in secret. You were born here, in the palace, and the queen said you were a beautiful baby."

Sarralyn smiled at that- half disbelieving, half thrilled. "You're joking," she said. I shook my head and grinned back.

"I don't have your imagination, sweetheart. No, it's the truth."

 

888

 

Stop. Stop reading.

Oh, don't worry, I won't stop telling the story just because I want to shift your eyes away. But don't you see that this... this conversation was more than just a story to me? Oh, the words will sound the same If I tell it, or if he does. I won't change that. But... how can I explain to you how I felt?

I couldn't even explain to myself how it made me feel. When we finished talking... hours and hours later, it must have been... I felt as tired as I would have done after a full day's work. We both told our stories, and then it was as if someone had blown out a candle. Neither of us could think of anything else to say. We both stared into space, trying to piece together the strange fragments of our lives, and the silence crept between us. I excused myself and went to bed.

I slept fitfully, and woke up in the early hours of the morning, my mind still reeling as if I'd not slept at all. How did I feel?

Well, when he first told me who he was, I was terrified. How could I not be? A thousand things went through my mind in a second. I've been trapped, or tricked. Mama sent me here on purpose to pay me back for running away. Jak sold me to him. I knew, even as the thoughts raced through my mind, that none of them made sense.

But, do your fears ever make sense? Tell me how likely it is that there are really monsters in the darkness in the hallway, or crawling under your bed when you sleep. That's what my father was to me. A monster: something terrifying which had lurked a few steps behind me for my entire life. I'd have been less surprised if Numair had turned into the shadow creature than if he'd said he was my father. I wanted to laugh. It was a ridiculous idea.

And at the same time, a voice whispered in my ear that it was true. And I'd already known it was true. I'd known as soon as Jak had told me. I just didn't let myself believe it. I'd known when I woke up in this house.

Running was an instinct; believing the truth was more difficult. I suppose actually knowing the truth is unusual for me.

The strange thing about not knowing anything about my parents was that, in a way, I didn't really know anything about myself. Perhaps that sounds melodramatic, but think of it this way: I started my story by telling you that my mother slapped me, and that I knew her name. I didn't know her age, or where she was born. I couldn't tell you the names of my grandparents, or even the place where I was born. But I knew her name. I knew only who she was with me. I knew who she pretended to be with other people.

I didn't know a home. I used to imagine it, but it was no more real to me than a dream. I was just as likely to have a real home, in my mind, as I was to sprout silver wings and fly with the Stormwings. But still, I loved to imagine it.

But now... if I looked around this room, I couldn't tell you what set it apart from any other place I'd ever lived. A room is a room. I thought a home would feel more special. And yet that voice whispered in my mind when I looked about me. I was a child in these rooms. The room that I woke up in this morning was to be mine. In these rooms, my parents hugged me and cared for me and argued about me and loved me. They made plans and broke them, about my life and their own. They had dreams and hopes. And then all of that was torn away from them.

It's a story. I could tell it to a crowd and make my week's wages.

It's just...It doesn't seem like a story that happened to me. It seems more like a fairy tale about complete strangers. If I try to imagine myself in these rooms, or my mother, the picture won't fit. These are the rooms of a duke or a lord. I don't know if I fit here.

No. The girl who grew up in this home is a stranger. She was a strange changeling who could turn into an animal at will, who a queen called beautiful...and she is not me. I cannot shapeshift, but apparently I also cannot be magically healed. Where a normal person would glow with their gift or their own strange life force, I only have a candle-flame of copper fire.

Numair told me that there is a reason for that, just like there's some reason that mama kept these stories from me. He doesn't know why, of course. Every word that he told me, and every detail that I imagined, made things I'd wondered about for years fall into place. Suddenly, I understood my mother's strange coldness, and the reason why she would yell at me for leaving footprints in the mud. I'd always thought it was because she was a coward.

I wish I could talk to her now, and tell her how much I admire the strength that kept her running for so many years. I don't know if I could have done it, if I had known that I was running away from the one thing in the world I dearly wanted.

Did I dream about my past when I slept? My imagination danced with smoke and shadows. I can't see their faces. Even when I dream, I cannot see my parents' faces together.

And when I dreamt, the shadow snarled at me, with sharp teeth and eyes that were blacker than tar.

In that dream, I had absolutely no doubt that the shadow was the thing keeping my family apart. But when I woke up, all I could think of was how, if I hadn't been born, none of this would have happened. If mama hadn't been pregnant, they wouldn't have been in Corus. If she wasn't trying to protect me from whatever was threatening to kill me, then mama could have come home years ago. I never really thought about how much she must love me, to give up her life like that before I could even speak. At the same time that the thought warmed my heart, it sent a chill down my spine. Had she ever regretted it? And what about Nu... father? He recognised me straight away when we first met. Had his first instinct been to care for me, or to blame me?

He said he was happy when he lived with mama. He's spent years trying to find her. When he spoke about her yesterday there was a warmth in his voice that I've never heard before. He told me everything he knew, and I told him about my nomad childhood, and why I ran away. I half expected him to yell at me, but he listened with the same thoughtful quiet that he'd had when I told him about Jak. The only thing I didn't tell him about was the creature, and that Mama had been in the woods. If she was trying to avoid him, then I didn't want to give him any clues. And the monster... well, to tell you the truth I still wasn't sure if it was even real.

But his story was real. I have no doubt of it. I just can't see their faces when I try to imagine it.

I lie awake in the darkness and stare at the ceiling, trying to imagine how it happened. The story begins with a beautiful queen. I know what the queen looks like; I've seen her face engraved on coins, and people talk about her beautiful dark hair and light skin. A beautiful queen walks through her palace, and is given a newborn baby to hold in her arms...


	13. Once Upon A Time...

"She's beautiful," Thayet said warmly, holding the baby with practiced ease. Daine smiled weakly, watching the cloth-wrapped bundle with tired eyes.

"She surely took her time! I think I'd rather fight a whole flock of hurrocks alone than go through that again."

"Ah, but you will." Thayet's smile was infectious when she handed the baby back to its exhausted mother. "When they look up at you with their sweet little eyes, you forget all about the pain."

"I'd rather forget the constant shape-shifting." Daine said tartly, but couldn't help smiling back. Sarralyn was only three days old, but the other woman was right- the pain of contractions and labour seemed very far away. She didn't think she'd be able to ever really forget, though. Sarralyn had shape-shifted almost constantly during the last few weeks, shifting about so much that the healers were worried she would be born feet-first... if she even had feet, that was. When the contractions started, the baby panicked and shifted between forms so rapidly that Daine had to force her to be still, drawing on her stubbornness almost as much as her magic. By the time the baby was born, fighting against its human form and screaming, Daine was too exhausted to even hold her.

Still, three days of sleep later, all that was left was an all-over ache, a bone-weariness and, of course, the baby. Sarralyn always changed back into a human when she slept, and her dark eyelashes made soft crescents against her cheeks. Daine sounded almost wondering when she repeated her friend's words, "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

Numair looked up from the message Thayet had brought. The queen had apologised even as she handed it over, but the invading Scanran armies had no respect for newborn children. Jon had started writing the message with a similar apology, but it was hardly needed. Neither Daine nor Numair had thought the war would leave them behind. The mage folded the note and walked over to the women, making his voice cheerful even as his heart sank at the orders Jon had sent.

"Don't bother answering her, Thayet. She won't believe you. She doesn't believe me when I agree with her."

"But you're biased, dearest." Daine kissed him fleetingly before pulling a face at his teasing. "You were saying what lovely feathers she had when she was a raven."

"She does look better as a human, I admit." Thayet shrugged with her unconscious grace. "Numair, do you have a reply to that message? I am sorry, but when Jon found out I was coming to see you..."

"Don't keep apologising, it's not your fault." Numair tried not to think about the paper that seemed to burn a hole in his pocket. "Tell him of course, but ask if I can have a few days."

Thayet nodded, biting her lip, and left the room. Daine waited until the door had clicked behind her before she spoke, not looking up at her husband. "Are you going away?"

"Yes, but not for too long, I hope. A month, at the most." Numair sat down next to her and handed her the letter, taking the baby from her so that she would be able to read it. He couldn't help paraphrasing the note out loud, wondering at the strange difference between the soft peace of their home, and the frantically fighting world waiting for them outside of it. "They've captured one of those killing machines- broken, but still moving. Jon wants me to see if I can convert it, or something."

"To fight for us?" Daine folded the note shut before she'd finished reading it, a confused line appearing between her eyes. "But you don't think that's possible. You said..."

"I know what I said. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I was wrong?" Numair grinned at the thought, almost excited at the idea of playing with such a bizarre magical creature, and then jumped when Sarralyn abruptly turned into a snake. He sighed and carefully put the snake and its blanket down on the floor, watching her curl up into a sleepy knot. "That's a new one."

"I still feel like I should be shape shifting with her." Daine admitted, and then turned her attention back to the note. "Did you say you can wait a few days before you go?"

He shrugged. "I guess I shouldn't, but it's not really urgent. They've trapped it in a well, or something- it can't do much damage, and it's not like we don't know how to kill them. It's just some idea that Jon's got, and Alanna's too far away for him to ask her to have a look."

"Good." The girl smiled brightly. "If you're waiting a few days, then we can come with you. I'll be better by then."

"No!" The word escaped before he even thought about it, but as soon as he saw her eyes narrow he knew why he'd said it. "I don't think you should-"

"Why not?" She demanded, catching hold of Sarralyn when she tried to slither away and returning her to her blanket. "It's not like you're going into the middle of a battle. And you'll just find some poor page and start filling his ears with arcane words about thingamabobs if I'm not there. And this is the first time we've had together for months, and I miss you, and if you think I'm going to sit at home like some flower-arranging noblewoman while you risk your life you're very, very wrong."

"I thought I wasn't going into any battles," he said mildly, "How am I risking my life, exactly?"

Daine threw up her hands, realised how dramatic she was being, and smiled ruefully. "You know what I mean! Don't think I'm not serious about this." She saw the stubborn expression on his face and sighed, looking away and forcing her voice to be calmer. "Please," she said quietly, "Don't just tell me no right off like that. It's not fair."

"Alright," Numair surprised himself with his own answer, and smiled crookedly. "Let's make a deal. We'll not talk about it for the next... three days. After that, if you're well enough, you can come with me. But not if you argue with me until I agree, that's cheating. If Baird says you're strong enough, and if Sarralyn stops changing into a penguin every five minutes, then you can come. Does that sound fair?"

"Wonderful." She smiled warmly and kissed him. "So, I have three days to think of other ways to convince you?"

"That's not what I..." Numair realised he was being teased and laughed, but his eyes were concerned when he answered, "I would never forgive myself if you or Sa got sick. I read it happens to approximately..."

"Ugh, there's your problem!" Daine rolled her eyes. "You've been reading too much. I feel fine. Tired, but fine. And unless Sarralyn takes it into her head to eat mice or shed her skin, she's fine too. Scaly, I guess, but fine."

As if to prove her wrong, Sarralyn shivered from a snake shape back into human, and started wailing. Daine pulled a face at the baby and picked her up, wrapping the blanket back around her. "At least you have the good sense to turn back into a human when you want feeding, my darling little pest."

Daine may have mocked the idea, but she kept her word. For the next few days neither of them raised the topic, although neither of them could really swear they hadn't thought about it. The real problem was same one they'd had when they were trapped in the Divine realms: both mages wanted to help fight in the war, more than they wanted any semblance of a peaceful life. Even the joy of the few days they had together was overcast with a kind of frustrated helplessness.

"At least you can actually do something," Daine remarked after a few days, "Suddenly, everyone I talk to seems to think I'm too delicate to even talk to a sparrow. If I ask what needs doing, they say, Don't worry! Just you rest up. Some of them even use the word dear." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "It's really annoying."

"I think they're just looking out for you."

Daine kicked her legs against the chair leg absently, not answering, and then looked up. "It's our last day here," she said. "What do you want to do?"

Numair started to shrug, then saw the expression on her face and smiled ruefully. "Why ask when you already have an idea planned out?"

"Well... I don't know if you'd want to do it." She replied slowly, "But I thought we might go to the temple and thank ma and da. We haven't, you know," she added hurriedly, "And I know it seems strange, and I could just wait until the harvest festival and tell them 'thank you' myself, but I thought we might anyway." Her lips twitched, as if she couldn't help mocking the goddess for it: "If they're even half as touchy about incense as the Hag was, then I seriously owe them."

"We certainly don't want them tearing down the palace," he agreed, and then ducked when she threw a cushion at him. He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine! I think it's a good idea, actually. I'm determined to convince your father to greet me with something other than an outright glare the next time he visits."

"He smiled at our wedding," Daine pointed out, remembering the odd ceremony they'd had in the middle of the forest. The walls between the realms allowed the two gods to pass through at midnight, and they stayed until their divine duties forced them away. Next to Weiryn, Sarra had been a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.

"I thought it was more of a grimace, but perhaps I just don't know him well enough to decide." Numair said absently, looking for his boots.

"You're just lucky I'm out of cushions," Daine stood up and forced herself not to react to the way the sudden movement made her back ache. The last thing she wanted was to give Numair an excuse to make her stay in the palace. Sarralyn had stopped shape shifting as often, although Daine privately thought that was just because the baby had worn herself out. She was sleeping deeply when Daine picked her up and tucked her neatly into a sling, and only gurgled in her sleep when they walked into the cooler air outside.

The city was as busy and crowded as the palace had been lazy and quiet. The people were going about their lives as if there was no war- and, for many of them, the war was just something to chat about over their supper. It seemed far away- and when they did see battles or refugees, they thought little of it. The people of Corus felt that living in the capital city, with its trade, gorgeous buildings and wealthy citizens, was worth the danger of being the natural epicentre of a battle. Daine and Numair could walk more quickly once they left the palace and people stopped recognising them, although they couldn't say more than a few sentences to each other before they were interrupted by a street vendor or a busker. The warm weather baked the streets into pungent dust, and the press of people made the smothering heat worse. They were both glad to finally reach the temple square, and walk into the cool quiet of the largest building.

The priests bowed silently when they walked into the main atrium. Daine and Numair bowed back, suddenly aware of how dishevelled and dusty they looked compared to these composed men and women. When one of the older women saw the sling holding Sarralyn, she smiled knowingly and gestured for them to follow her, leading them to a vast anteroom which housed a statue of the Mother goddess. With linked hands, they bowed to the statue and left their offerings at the mother's feet.

Sarralyn sniffled, sneezed, and started wailing. The noise was sharp in the absolute quiet. Daine winced and reached into the sling to comfort her, cursing when the baby turned into a hare and started wriggling. She didn't really want to explain why she had brought a hare into the sacred temple, and especially not to the serious-eyed priestess.

"Excuse me, ma'am," She whispered to her instead, "Is there somewhere I can go- private, I mean- to feed her?"

The priestess smiled again and gestured away. Apparently it was a common request. Daine looked back at the offerings at the feet of the statue and realised that wasn't really surprising. Before following the priestess, she turned to speak to Numair.

"Do you want to take the offerings to ma and pa? I think it's the incense smoke that's set Sa off. That, and the dust." She pulled a face and kissed him rapidly. "I'll meet you back in the atrium."

Compared to the ornate anteroom, the room the priestess led her to was almost austere. The walls were simple whitewashed wood, and the floor was normal timber rather than engraved tiles. The priestess smiled and bowed a farewell before gliding away on silent feet.

"You couldn't do that, could you Sa?" Daine asked, untying the sling. "You're far too noisy to take a vow of silence."

As if to prove her right, Sarralyn started wailing even louder. It had been the smoke which had upset her; panicking at the bitter smell, she shifted between shapes so rapidly that her mother had to keep her wrapped in the sling, rocking it slightly to calm her down and speaking to her softly. She didn't notice the footsteps approaching until the man suddenly blurted out,

"You're the wildmage, aren't you? It's you."

Daine looked up sharply, still rocking Sarralyn. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm busy... as you can probably hear."

"I hear a baby crying, and a pig squealing, and a falcon screeching." The man persisted. "It's you, isn't it?"

"Well, it's the baby." Daine tried to make a joke out of it, but her words fell flat. The man looked almost fervent. "I'm sorry, sir. Do I know you?"

"Do you... no. No, of course you don't." The man rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, as if he could push his thoughts further forward. "You are the wildmage, aren't you? And you have a baby."

Daine was starting to wonder if his mind was a little slow. It was like trying to have a conversation with a chicken! Sarralyn was calming down a little, at least. She carefully tied the sling back around her shoulders. The man was unsettling. He stared at her with almost feverish eyes, dust and ash sticking to his sweat-stained skin. If she had been anywhere other than Corus she might have been more wary; as it was, she didn't want to stay in this room with him any longer than she had to.

"Sir, I have to leave now." She said pointedly, looking at the doorway which he was blocking. The man blinked and looked around, and then stretched his face into a fake smile. If anything, it was more unsettling than the zealous stare. His tone was almost syrupy the next time he spoke, as if a candle had suddenly been lit in his mind.

"Yes, of course." He stood aside- enough to let her past, but not so much that she didn't have to brush against him when she left. A jolt of static jumped from his rough woven sleeve, and Daine jumped and had to stop herself from glaring. It wasn't the man's fault that there was going to be a summer storm.

But when they were walking home, the sky was as clear as a mountain lake. Daine bit her lip and wondered if she should tell Numair about the strange man. He hadn't really frightened her, but he did seem quite... odd. She knew the temples cared for people with simple and dreaming minds. Perhaps she was just being suspicious.

 

Daine

 

That night, I slept badly. I was nervous about the next day. I didn't want Numair to leave me behind, you see, but at the same time I almost wanted him to make me stay. I felt much better than I had, but still not as strong as I was used to being. Different parts of my mind argued with me.

What were a few weeks? But that wasn't the point. A few weeks could easily become a few months, when people started asking us to take messages to forts, or to patrol the skies, or to help defend a stronghold. The war had stretched itself from weeks into years, and Sarralyn had been born right in the middle of it. I wanted to protect my friends, and my country, and I wanted to fight alongside them. But what kind of mother would I be, if I dragged my daughter out into a battlefield? Camps are dangerous for more reasons than enemy steel; disease and bad food and acrid campfire smoke made more people sick than flesh wounds ever could.

Numair was right. If Sarralyn got sick, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself, either. I'd spent my entire confinement telling myself that as soon as I gave birth, I'd be able to fight again. Now, after a few days of quiet, I was starting to see why that was a stupid idea.

I sighed and rolled over, wondering if I would ever fall asleep. The movement woke Numair up, and he sleepily wrapped his arms around me and held me closely.

Now, here's where I should have said something. I should have said, I met a strange man at the temple today. I should have said, What kind of magic feels like a static shock? I should have said... oh, I don't know. Would you believe that I have repeated that night in my mind a thousand times, wondering how I might have changed things? I didn't know then that the worst had already happened. Even as I cuddled up against my husband, the spell was festering in my blood which would drive us apart.

I remember that night so well. It was the last time I felt safe, and loved. I remember every heartbeat of it.

"I can't go with you tomorrow," I said.

He didn't reply, but his arms tightened around me as if he hated to let me go.

The next morning, he left. The last words that I said to him were I love you. His were, Smile, Sweetling, I'll see you soon.

My memories like pointing out, cruelly, that he lied. They also like to remind me that, however much I may cherish the memory of kissing him that last time, or the sight of him holding Sarralyn to wish her goodbye, this memory is not a happy one.

The man returned barely an hour after Numair left.

Kitten whistled the door open, and he strolled past her as if he had every right to be there. I looked up from changing Sarralyn, and barely had enough time to recognise him before he snapped his fingers at me. That was it- that was all it took. A static shock, and a snap of the fingers. Perhaps there was more to it, but I wouldn't know... he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the world crashed into darkness.

When I woke up, I was lying on the floor. He'd propped a cushion under my head. I guess he thought he was being considerate. I tried to sit up, and realised I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. The man sat down opposite me, legs crossed like a tailor, and watched me for a moment before he said anything.

"These are the rules," he said eventually. I blinked and stared at him, unable to believe he was speaking so quietly, so coldly. In rooms a few doors away from this, people were going about their business, completely unaware that this man had trapped me like this, in my own home. I couldn't even scream for help. He relented slightly at the fury in my eyes and told me that the paralysing spell would wear off in an hour.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, "I'm not a monster, Wildmage. You could learn from me, you know. I'm just here to tell you the rules."

I focused on him, memorising his face while he spoke. There was a mole on his left cheek. I vowed to tear it off.

"The first rule," he continued in his cold voice, "Is that you must stay away from the Black Mage. One mile away, in fact. If you get closer to him than that, your daughter will die."

I made a strangled noise, but couldn't form words. I looked desperately around for the baby. I couldn't see her anywhere. Was he kidnapping her? I stared back at him. The mole twitched when he spoke.

"The second rule is, you cannot tell anyone about this. Don't speak about me, or about the spell. No-one must know who you are, or why you're running... or your daughter will die. "

Spell? I must have looked confused, because he snorted derisively. "Gods, you really are an idiot. You think I'm going to track you for the rest of your life? The spell follows these rules. If you break them, the spell kills your brat. Is that easy enough to understand, now?"

I thought frantically. If it were true, if it was a spell, then I couldn't fight it. A mage would be able to... but then, I'd have to tell them about the spell in the first place. Perhaps I could... perhaps, if I...

The man must have read my eyes again, because he raised an eyebrow. "Feel free to test the spell. You're the only one who'll suffer if you break the rules, after all. I certainly don't care. And, by the way? Your daughter counts as one of the people you can't tell. You also can't write any letters or send any messages. Clever, isn't it? I thought of it myself. I was going to make it so that he would die, of course, but the baby makes it a lot easier."

I blinked, and realised I could move my fingers. The paralysis was wearing off! Perhaps if I kept him talking for long enough, I could fight him. I could make him take away whatever he'd done. I stayed as still as possible (not difficult) and watched as he picked something up. My heart wrenched, and I instinctively tried to move again. It was Sarralyn. She squalled weakly, waving a fist from inside her blanket. I wondered how long I'd been unconscious for, how long she'd been alone for with that man. He laid her down next to me, his hands surprisingly gentle as he made sure her head was supported.

Sarralyn cried out again, and something streamed out of her mouth and drifted around her head like a moth. I blinked at it, trying to get my eyes to focus on something that was nothing more than a shadow.

"When we're born, Wildmage," the man said, as if he were reciting a story, "The gods grant us a life, and a death. We carry both with us through all our days, and then one day the black god tells the death it can claim us. Who knows what plans our deaths have for us? It's certain that we will die, and yet..." he reached out a fingertip to the black shadow, which passed through it like smoke. "And yet, we don't know how it will happen. Death has rules. We cannot die from being stabbed with a rose petal. But... like most things... the rules can be changed. It costs us, in blood and magic and sorrow, but we can change the rules." He blinked, as if he'd forgotten he was speaking out loud, and looked down at me. "Remember the rules, Wildmage."

I stared at the shadow, watching it shapeshift from a moth into a tiny humming bird. What the man was saying was ludicrous. This tiny creature was not death. Even today I find it hard to believe. I still think that he was wrong. He did not summon Sarralyn's death to hunt her down on that day. He summoned a demon, a creature. He called forth something which is now bloated by blood and bored from the years of waiting. I can't believe it's her death which drinks from our magic and his blood like a glutton.

On that day, I didn't have a chance to challenge him. I could barely even move my hands when he snapped his fingers again, and the darkness returned. When I woke up for the second time, the room was empty and I could move. Sarralyn slept uneasily on the floor beside me, and the man was gone. Kitten lay on the floor near the door, apparently under the same sleeping spell he had used on me. I felt sick. The whole thing was a nightmare. I paced the room frantically, trying to think of what to do. It was only after an hour had passed that I realised the sick emptiness in my stomach wasn't just blind panic- my magic had been drained, as if I'd never been a mage at all.

Now, what should I have done? How could I have acted? Strangely, this part of my memory does not replay itself as often as the night before. The man had been quite clear in his rules, and his directions. I couldn't stay in the palace; that much was clear. I was to become somebody else. I went from feeling frantic to feeling cold and hollow. Like a sleepwalker, I packed up my travelling clothes and things that might help me- things I could sell, or barter. Nothing that can identify me. I collected things for Sarralyn, and realised distantly that she hadn't shapeshifted since I woke up. I guessed her magic was gone too, then. I cut my hair short and burned the ends in the fire, and tucked the badger claw inside my shirt. I hesitated over my wedding ring, and then tucked it inside my pack. To my frozen mind, it had become something I could sell. Kitten trailed after me, bewildered and upset, whistling at me and getting no reply. The sleeping spell still slowed her down; bored with my packing, she yawned widely, and curled up on one of the chairs to nap. I blinked at her, and felt the ice covering my heart splintering for a second. Nothing that can identify me. I'd have to leave her behind. She would manage fine without me. She often wandered down to the kitchens alone when she was hungry. No-one would notice I was gone because of her.

I wrapped a cloak around my travel clothes, shouldered my bag, picked up Sarralyn, and looked over the room. It looked the same as it always had, but now it was empty and quiet. I noticed absently that the cushion was still lying on the floor. I picked it up, and the chain that I wore around my wrist caught on the weave of the cloth.

The chain... I stared at it dully. After Numair had admitted he had a focus I asked for one, as well. He laughed and asked why, since I didn't have the gift to use it. The memory of his teasing broke through my coldness, and I could feel tears burning the backs of my eyes as I refused to let them fall. It means a lot to me, I had said, insisted, argued. Should I steal a lock of your hair the next time you sleep, like you did to me?

No, sweetheart. He said, his eyes laughing but deep, dark like the night sky. I loved that expression, the way he could switch from teasing to serious in an instant. It had been in one of the first weeks, when we could still barely believe that we loved each other. He kissed me before he said anything else, kissed me until I thought I might drown in those black eyes, until all my arguments had fled from my mind. I'm very, very happy that it means so much to you. He murmured into my ear. I realised then that it was the confirmation he'd needed. I'd found out he that loved me when I saw his focus; perhaps asking for my own was my way of replying. We'd argued so much in those first few weeks, much more than we ever had before we were lovers- about our ages, about what people would say... but after that day, the arguments seemed ridiculous. We loved each other.

I stared at the chain dully, realising I was seeing it through a mask of tears. They fell like rain; I couldn't stop them falling, or dash them away. My fingers shook when I unclasped the chain, and it fell to the floor before I thought to catch it. I took it into our room, and laid it gently across his pillow.

It wasn't a message. I couldn't bear to carry it away. Every time I saw it, I knew my heart would break.

I rested my hand on the pillow for a few moments. I didn't look back at the palm print that was left in the linen when I left. I didn't look back at all.


	14. Sarralyn

I twirled around and watched the dress glide out around me. The material streamed like water, looking almost like it was breathing as it caught the air currents. It was a strange colour- somewhere between dark blue and green. It felt softer than lamb's wool to the touch, and shimmered in the evening light. I'd never worn anything so beautiful.

I couldn't held dancing in it, loving the way it moved with me. Kit whistled a greeting, and I blushed and nearly stumbled over when I realised that Numair had come back and was watching me, smiling slightly. Drat, I thought he'd be gone for longer. I covered up my embarrassment by telling him, archly, that the colour didn't suit me at all.

"Well no," he said in the same tone, "The dress wasn't made for you. It was probably expecting some blonde waif to wear it tonight. Imagine how disappointed the poor thing is!"

I hid a smile and sat down, careful not to crease the skirt. "Should I give it back, then?"

He shrugged. "Some people have two or three dresses made for every dance they go to. The dressmakers sew them, and then the spoiled little ladies start turning their noses up at them."

"Someone rejected this?" I gaped at him and brushed my hands down the skirt. The sleeves were embroidered with tiny flowers. There was even a miniscule bee collecting pollen. "But it's beautiful!"

"Even if it's the wrong colour?" Numair smirked when I pulled a face and then noticed Kitten. "Sarralyn, what on earth is she wearing?"

I straightened the bow on the ribbon and folded the ends neatly between the little dragon's wing stubs. The ends drifted behind her back like a train, and she whistled and spun around like I had done with my dress. "She's coming to the party too." I said matter-of-factly.

"It's not a party. They hold court every other night. They just usually have better sense than to send me a summons." He muttered the last part under his breath and went into his room to get changed. Kitten looked up at me and shrugged. I was learning to read her moods surprisingly quickly. After the first few days where I'd done little but sleep and heal she'd become my shadow, following me when I went exploring and curling up in my lap whenever I rested. It was hard to think I'd ever been afraid of her. I was learning her whistles and chirps like a second language. That particular shrug was one she never seemed to do in front of Numair, and I'd soon realised it was her way of affectionately rolling her eyes at him.

"Well, I think you look pretty." I told her, smoothing the ends of the ribbon back. She chirped and tugged at the bow, setting it at a jauntier angle around her neck.

The action made me think of my own necklace- or, I should say, mama's necklace. To anyone looking it would just look like I was wearing a long silver chain, but I could feel the cold weight of the claw against my chest. After we'd fought I'd agonised over whether to give it back to Numair, but some part of me still didn't want him to have it. Wearing it felt both odd and comforting. Mama had told me hundreds of stories about the claw, each one more ridiculous than the last, until I stopped asking questions about it. So I didn't know anything about it, apart from the fact that it was an important part of her life. I had never seen her without it, even when we were struggling to find the coppers for bread in the workless winters.

Perhaps Numair gave it to her. Somehow I doubt it. It's too odd to be a gift. It really does look like a real animal claw- gnarled, misshapen, honed to a fine point... the only difference is it's made from silver. I asked Kitten if it was a dragon claw, but she snorted mockingly and shook her head.

I found it strange to think that there were people here who might recognise it. There were people here who had known mama when she was even younger than me. People who knew more about her than I did. How strange. I guessed that was who I was to meet tonight- perhaps the healers who had been so baffled over my gift, or some other mage or nobleman Numair was friends with. He refused to tell me until we'd left, walking to the main part of the palace, and I have to admit that when he told me I squeaked and tried to run back to my room. Kitten made a chuckling noise.

"I can't meet the king." I insisted. "Be sensible, Numair. I've spent more time sleeping in ditches than palaces. How can I possibly meet royalty?"

He looked sidelong at me. "Well, that's a good point. I find the first thing Jon asks anyone about is their sleeping habits. Anything less than a bed of pure swan feathers and you're snubbed across the realm." He relented and stopped for a moment. "Look, you're not getting officially presented at court or anything like that. We're just going to loiter at the back of the room and say hello when he's finished with all the people bowing and scraping. And it's not just Jon, there are a few people I'd like you to meet. You'll like them, I promise."

In fact, the first person to greet us wasn't a stranger at all, although I barely recognised Lolla in the dress she was wearing. It was cut in a very daring, flattering way, in navy satin. If anything, the sedate colour made the cut of the dress look even more shocking. She rustled up to us and engulfed me in a tight hug before I even had a chance to smile at her.

"Lilith, my darling!" She declared, barely noticing the people hushing her around us as she gave me another hug. "Mmm! You look so thin!"

I hugged her back shyly, scared of crushing her dress. She didn't seem to care; this close, I could see the darker patch on one sleeve where she'd singed it with her pipe. "I think being thin runs in my family, Lolla... and my name is Sarralyn."

"Oh aye, he told you then." She straightened up and waved her fingers mockingly at Numair. "Hello there, lanky."

"Lolla," he said solemnly, bowing over her hand. "Or have you created some fantastic stage name for the night?"

"Hark at the Hurrock calling the Stormwing Immortal!" She retorted, and then winked. When she next spoke, her voice held a refined, elegant accent that most princesses could only dream of. "But since you asked, you have the honour of meeting Mistress Lorelei Calida, enchantress from some exotic foreign land... known as Lolla to her friends."

I could hear Kitten sniggering by my feet; Lolla must have heard her too, because she looked down and, for a second, her absolute self-assurance faded. "Sarralyn, have you contracted ankle-lizards?"

"Just the one." I reached down to pick up the dragon, cradling her in my arms like a cat. Kit wriggled in token protest, and then settled down and looked around the room from her new vantage point. Lolla greeted the dragon with something less than her usual charm, and I suddenly realised that a flood of hushed whispering was spreading out from where I was standing. People were staring curiously at Kitten, but just as many of them were staring at me. Noblemen and ladies, priests and healers and even jesters and musicians whispered behind their hands and pointed. I blushed furiously and tried to hide behind Numair, but that just made the whispers louder.

"What was that about us loitering at the back of the room?" I muttered.

"It was your idea to bring Kitten," he replied mildly.

"They're just tellin' each other how much you look like your ma, sweetheart." Lolla probably thought she was being reassuring, but her words made me feel totally exposed. Imagine if you'd lived your whole life with false names and dyed hair, pretending to be someone else. Suddenly, a whole room full of people were staring at me... and I was myself.

"They know who I am?" I couldn't stop my voice from sounding horrified."Lolla, why did you have to make such a scene?"

"This way, the whispers will last a few days, not months. Court runs on gossip. 's why I'm here, after all. If you're loud enough, people don't realise that you're actually listening." She shrugged and grinned, her teeth strangely white next to the bright dash of her lip paint. "Numair, my love, you're an idiot. It's easier for a juggler to sneak into court than an heiress. The lords, ladies and other lions are all out for blood. Why'd you bring her?"

"I don't care about them," Numair replied distantly, obviously not paying attention as he looked through the crowd for someone. Lolla sighed and straightened her bracelets. They chimed together like bells.

"Well, good luck then, Lilith. Just remember that under all the shiny stones and flimsy fabric they're exactly the same as your friends in the market."

Exactly the same! But they weren't. The people in the market had their own business- they were there to buy and to sell. They would haggle and tease each other over their produce. Farmers would trade tales and advice as readily as coin. Here, in the court, nobody seemed to have any business of their own. If gossip were coin, these people would be even more richly decked out in jewels than they already were. Within a few moments of Lolla slipping away, the crowd had started to close around me, greeting me and asking a thousand questions. I looked around desperately for Numair, but he'd disappeared as well.

I guess he saw his friend. I thought grimly. Kitten squirmed in my arms, and I realised I'd been holding her up in front of me like a shield. When I relaxed my hold she jumped down and stood by my feet, like a guard dog. The sudden movement made some of the nearby courtiers back away, and I took advantage of their wariness to slip away to another part of the hall.

Of course, it didn't stop them from following me. One particularly persistent boy a few years older than me insisted on bowing over my hand, telling me that the court had been awash for weeks with rumours of my beauty- and now he saw that it was true! I blinked at him, bewildered.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, "I only got here a few days ago, and my face was all swollen where I'd been hit."

He reddened and let go of my hand as if it had caught fire. "That's not what you're supposed to say," he muttered, scowling. I shrugged and folded my arms, unable to stop myself mocking him in a singsong voice.

"Oh, fair lord, but these stories of my beauty are truly my curse! Would that the gods have blessed me with a wart or a mole, for this face with which they have cursed me has been my undoing! Each day I pull a face and plead with the wind to change and make it stick, but thus far it has refused!" I pulled my face into a grotesque grimace. The boy blinked, and then surprised me by laughing.

"Isn't that from a story?" He asked, his voice suddenly much more normal. I smiled back and nodded.

"It's one of my favourites." I admitted, "But only because I get to pull faces when I tell it."

He laughed again and clasped my hand again- this time in genuine friendship. "Sorry about before. Most girls fall for that mushy stuff, y'know. I'm Gregory."

"Sarralyn." I shook his hand like a merchant. His hand was as sunburned as mine was. I guessed he was a page or squire. Before I could ask, he spotted something behind me, hastily excused himself, and slipped away into the crowd. I turned around to see what had spooked him, and saw a young woman in a green velvet dress craning her neck, looking for him. I wondered if the mushy stuff had worked better on her.

Then I saw something which made me freeze in place, stunned. Forgetting my manners, I pushed my way through the crowd towards it. The creature. It flew in lazy circles over the courtier's heads, swooping close to their eyes and ears and hissing a crackling laugh when none of them reacted. Black slime dripped from its beak onto their immaculate headdresses, but not a single hand was raised to brush the oozing liquid away.

That didn't seem important to me at the time. I didn't wonder why no-one could see it. All I could think of was... mama must be here. The shadow had followed her as closely as Kitten followed me. She would be here with it. I didn't think how she could be here, I just pushed forwards and looked around for her, my heart racing at every green veil I spotted. Priests and priestesses were welcomed at court, so she could have gotten in without a summons...

Imagine my surprise, then, when the shadow fluttered down onto a stranger's shoulder and stayed there, preening. The man looked sidelong at it and sighed, muttering something under his breath.

"Where did you go?" I heard him say when I was close enough, "It's not like you to dart off like that." He spotted me staring at him, and his eyes narrowed. "What are you looking at, girl? Never seen an old priest talking to himself before?"

I blinked, and couldn't help my eyes flickering to the bird on his shoulder. Close up, it looked more like a bat. It hissed at me and flapped its wings, but for some reason I wasn't scared of it. I remembered the clearing, when I'd seen it with mama. I hadn't been scared then, either. Mama had been scared. She flinched away from it, like this man did when it keened. But it didn't scare me. It was as if it was whispering into my mind, telling me this was all an act.

Then again, perhaps it was my imagination. Ma always said that one day it would get me in trouble.

"Is that your shadow?" I asked bluntly, and then interrupted myself. "Your bird, I mean?"

He blanched, and then peered at me more closely. This close, his eyes were a strange sickly green. The whites were pink and tired, but he met my gaze directly when he tried to bluff. "Bird?"

I pointed. The bird cawed a laugh, and then took wing. As it circled around the room, the whispers in my mind seemed to move with it. It was dizzying. If I concentrated, they were almost words.

The priest smiled weakly, waving a hand in dismissal. "You can't see anything, girl."

"I can," I said dreamily. The words span around my head as if they were dancing. "It wants to be seen. It wants me to see it." I grinned and put a hand up to my forehead, trying to stop my eyes from following the voices of the invisible speakers. The shadow flew past on bird wings. "It thinks it's funny."

"Funny?" The priest looked like he was about to say something else, when Kitten interrupted him with an awful growl. The bird had fluttered to the floor and turned into a dragon shape, mocking her, and she snarled at it with her silver teeth bared to the gums.

The whispers fled from my mind, and I was suddenly scared for her. "Kitten," I started, "Don't..."

She ignored me, her growl growing louder as she padded closer to the creature, hackles raised like a hunting wolf. The creature made no sound, but started to grow until it towered over her. She hissed at it, and when it still refused to back down she threw herself at it, clawing and biting and tearing at it. With a lazy swipe, the creature flung her sprawling into the feet of the nearby courtiers. They turned around, gaping as the tiny dragon launched herself back and attacked the thin air with absolute fury. They couldn't see the creature fighting back, but I could. I flung myself to the floor and tried to tear the two animals apart. My hands passed through the shadow as if it were made of smoke, but when I tried to pull Kit away she clung to it, her razor sharp teeth embedded in its flesh.

I spun around to the priest, who watched with a smirk. "Help me!"

He shrugged and melted back into the crowd. I swore and gritted my teeth, clutching Kitten as tightly as I could and yanking her away from the shadow. She snarled and screeched at me, writhing in my grip to get back to her fight.

"Leave it, Kit!" When I stood up, hauling the struggling dragon further away, the shadow made a mocking noise and loped back into the crowd, following the priest. Kitten clawed at my arms, still trying to follow it. I held on to her grimly, hoping her bird-bones weren't too fragile to be held this tightly.

At least that proves it's real, I thought, noticing a pool of dark black liquid on the tiles. Apparently the shadow could bleed as well as drool. I stood still for a few moments, thinking rapidly while Kitten struggled. By the time she stopped squirming and whistled, looking contritely at the scratches on my arms, I'd made a decision.

"Are you hurt?" I asked her quietly. She shook her head. "Good. We need to leave. Do you fancy a walk?"

The noblemen and women around me were still staring and murmuring to each other when I walked through them, unconcerned. The fight had only raised a small amount of interest; the palace swarmed with dogs, so I guess most people dismissed it as a fight over a bone. I followed the path the creature had taken as quickly as possible. The creature would lead me to the priest, and the priest would lead me to mama.

The palace guards barely looked twice at me when I passed them. I asked a few of them which way the priest had gone, and they simply pointed in his direction. It had been an accident that I had met him, and I had a feeling he regretted it more than I did. I realised with a strange thrill that he wasn't just leaving, he was running away from me. After he left the palace grounds, though, he seemed to relax. He never saw me hiding in the shadows. Mama had trained me to hide well. I trailed him silently, following him for nearly an hour until he stopped. We were in the temple district. I wasn't surprised- he was a priest, after all- but what I saw next made my blood run cold.

He slipped around the back of one of the smaller temples in the complex, heading for a storage shed. I followed, careful not to block any of the light that slanted through the narrow alleyway. When he went into the shed I carefully crept around the outside, searching until I found an iron grate which I could peer through, lying flat on my stomach in the dust. When I saw the inside of the shed I had to hold my breath to keep from gasping out loud.

It was Jak. The priest sat down heavily on a barrel, worn out from the brisk walk. Jak barely even glanced at him, but stared obstinately out of the window as the priest began to rant at him. It took me a few breathless moments to realise that they were talking about me.

"How could you let her escape, you idiot?" the priest obviously didn't want an answer, but kept shouting as if his words were the tide. "You had her, right there. Gods bless it, she knows things! Why didn't you kill her?"

Jak showed a hint of interest, looking around. "You spoke to her?" He asked. The priest raised his hands in a shrug. The boy smiled insolently. "So why didn't you kill her?"

If anything, the older man looked shocked. "I don't kill people. I'm not a monster!" his voice darkened and he leaned forward. "That's your job, remember?"

Jak shrugged. Next to me, Kitten made a soft enquiring noise, and I realised I was shaking. This was the man who had ordered Jak to kidnap me and kill me. If Jak hadn't been so greedy, or so in awe of my family, then the priest be celebrating my death already. Why did I follow him?

The conversation had moved on to other things. The priest was accusing Jak of letting the Wildmage escape, while my kidnapper calmly explained how he'd had to hide from the entire Rogue. It sounded like an old argument. I was almost disappointed- it didn't sound like they knew where mama was, after all. I was just about to quietly sneak away when they started talking about me again.

"So, what are you going to do?" The priest asked abruptly. Jak had been cleaning his nails with the tip of his dagger, but he looked up sharply at that and grinned.

"Do, old man?"

"About the girl, idiot! All she has to do is die. That's not so difficult. Don't try to ransom her this time, for the love of Shakith!"

Jak spat on the ground and sheathed his dagger, his eyes clear and direct. "And why would I do that, old man? You have no money, and your god never cared to roll her dice for me. What can you offer me?"

"Safety." The priest's voice is both smug and triumphant. "If you don't kill her, I may have a vision from my goddess. Oh, nothing serious, of course... just a small truth. Perhaps a whispered plea from another young girl you kidnapped, telling the goddess her kidnapper's name. Overheard by the right people, of course..."

Jak moved so quickly that the priest half fell off his seat, making an odd gakk noise as he fell. It took me a second to realise the noise was a choking sound; Jak had him by the throat. I'd have given up at that point, but the priest kept speaking.

"She knows too! She knows already! It's only a matter of time before she tells her father your face, and then what? But I... ackhh! I can pardon you! I can intervene... the... the gods can protect you!"

Jak was still for a heartbeat, and then let the priest go. The old man crunched to the floor in a whirlwind of dust, gasping for breath. I bit my lip, praying to whatever god might be listening that he killed the old man, or at least took him to the guards. Anything, as long as he didn't listen to those ridiculous words. But when Jak straightened up, his face was set.

"Fine." He said. "She's at the palace? Fine. She dies at dawn."

The priest cackled a half-choked laugh. "You'll break in to the palace?"

Jak glanced at him and shrugged one shoulder. "It'll be easier than breaking in to the Dove. Those stupid thieves think that I was just lucky. Fools. But let them think it."

I had to slam my hand over my mouth to keep from being sick. I backed away from the grate as silently as I could, and then ran away as quickly as my feet could carry me. I noticed absently that my dress was covered in mud, and that my cheeks were wet with silent tears. But all I could think of was escaping. I couldn't go back to the palace. They would kill me. They were speaking about it so coldly... laughing about it... I couldn't go back.

I ran blindly, and only stopped when a muscular arm grabbed my wrist and yanked me to a halt. I screamed at the man, but he refused to let me go. When the mist of terror faded from my eyes, I recognised him- the bear from the Dove, holding my wrist with patient, vicelike strength.

"You'm got to go home, Sa." He rumbled. I gaped at him, and then realised he was going to take me back. I pleaded with him, explaining that I had to leave- that it was dangerous- that he should have stopped following me- but none of it made any difference. He picked me up easily, like a screaming child, and carried me back along the streets of Corus.


	15. Numair

"Drink this." I pushed the cup into Sarralyn's unresisting hand. She stared at the spiced wine as if she was trying to decide whether to throw it at me or drink it. She had screamed at us, tried to slip away from Luwi's watchful eye and even pleaded with us for over an hour. When we tried to calm her down, asking her to tell us what was wrong, she stared around at the walls as if they were a prison, and then fainted. Now that she was awake again, I wasn't quite sure what to do. She'd spent hours staring out of the window in terrified silence, refusing to sleep even though she was obviously exhausted.

"It's still night," she said in a voice weak from crying. "I still have time. Please let me go."

"What's wrong?" I demanded. "Why did you run away? And what happens when this time runs out?"

She blinked at me. "I die," she said simply, as if she were speaking to a child. Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to die. I'm scared. Please let me go. He knows where I am! He's coming to find me. I'd have been safe if that stupid troll hadn't dragged me back here!" She hurled the cup in the direction of the door and stood up, ready to run away again.

"Sa, Luwi's guarding the door. There are palace guards on the other doors. They won't let you out, and they won't let any killer in here." I tried to keep my voice level, but my patience was running thin. A page had found me at court to tell me that he'd seen a girl running out of the palace with a dragon. Lolla had instantly sent Luwi to follow her, but it was a good hour before he found her- and in that time, something had frightened her into hysterics. I didn't know who to be angry with. If an assassin had appeared at that moment, I think I would have scolded him to death.

My reassurance seemed to have mollified Sarralyn a little, although she was still as white as a sheet. Kitten was restless too, and that disturbed me almost as much as the hysterics. The little dragon was sitting bolt upright, like a guard dog, and hissed at every sound.

"I know too much." The sudden calmness in my daughter's voice was eerie. I looked up at her, to see her watching the first strands of dawn through the window. She smiled ruefully, and turned her dagger over in her hands. Kitten had brought it to her, and it seemed to help her relax a little. "They want to kill me because I know something, but I don't know what I know, so it seems stupid to kill me for knowing it. But they will. The gods promised."

"What made them... decide this, then?" I asked carefully. Sarralyn smile turned brilliant, even as the calmness in her voice slipped in to the manic dreaminess of extreme weariness.

"I think it was the shadow. The thing. The creature. The, um, the bird. Thing." She raised her hands and made the fingers flap like wings. Her slurred voice took on the guise of a storyteller. "It flew around the hall, only I was the only person who could see it. Well, me and Kit. And we followed it, because it was following mama around the last time I saw her, and she was surprised that I could see it, so I guess it's been around for a while. Only then it was a dog."

My eyes narrowed unconsciously at that. "A... shadow shape shifter?"

Sarralyn nodded. "It's mama's. She hates it. I think she meant me to tell you about it, but I thought I'd imagined it. I didn't think you'd believe me. It's like smoke, but Kit can bite it. Anyway, we followed it, and instead of ma there was a priest there. In a hag cloak. And I figured, since mama's a priestess now, that maybe he knew where she was."

"Daine's a priestess?" I hadn't meant to say anything, but the idea was just so ludicrous I spoke without thinking. Sarralyn tossed back her hair irritably and got a better grip on her dagger.

"S'what I said. I'm going to die in an hour; if you keep interrupting me you'll never find out the thing I know but I don't know I know." Sarralyn's forehead furrowed for a moment, and then she nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. I'm sure something I know is important. Anyway, the priest ran away when Kit tried to kill the shadow thing, and we followed him... and he was in a storeroom with Jak, and they were talking about killing me because I know too much, and he's the man who hired Jak before. He doesn't have any money so Jak tried to kill him, but then he said the gods could pardon Jak's crimes, and Jak let him go."

"What was the priest's name?" I asked, my mind whirling with ideas about shadow creatures. Sarralyn shook her head apologetically and returned to watching the window. Moths fluttered against the panes, called towards the candle flame that had been burning there all night. There were less of them now; the morning dew would fall soon, and dampen their wings. The few that had slipped through the open window had burned in the flame, which had made Kitten whistle sadly. All of this was invisible to Sarralyn; she just kept staring at the sky, as if it was the sun that would kill her, or the bats that fluttered across it, or the light from a distant star.

Shadow shape shifters... what a strange idea. I have books which discuss it, most of them purely theoretical. What about a shadow which disguises the gift? Magic is essentially light; perhaps a shadow could conceal it by cancelling it out. It's a very literal use of magic, but perhaps...

All the spells that I could think of were archaic, or strange... the sort of spells we would be shown at the university with a sideways glance, perhaps a pithy comment: No-one would actually use this, you understand, but just as a bit of fun, let's look at... But why was that a problem? If Daine had been ensnared in a spell I doubt it would be something simple.

"Kit," I said quietly, startling the dragon out of her pose. She tilted her head sideways to show she was listening. "Was it an immortal?"

She shook her head savagely, making a furious sound. "What about a... a chaos demon, something like that?"

She chirped something- not a no, but not an agreement. Hm.

Sarralyn had fallen asleep in her chair, utterly exhausted. Every few breaths her eyes would dart open and stare at the sky, and then slowly flutter closed. I had no doubt she was telling the truth; now I knew about the shadow, and that it was important, I had a good idea what kind of spell it might be. I could break it, and when it was broken the priest would be left without a weapon to defend himself. He'd had years and years to hide behind this... shadow thing. The idea of it being destroyed must be terrifying for him.

I grinned. I almost pitied him.

And then...

It happened so suddenly that I could barely blink. One moment the room was empty, and then, just as rapidly, a man had appeared in the shadows and held a blade to Sarralyn's throat. Her eyes flew open and she took a breath to scream, but he slammed his hand over her mouth to stop her. The man's eyes met mine, coldly, but he spoke to her.

"Now then, Sarralyn, that would be a bad idea. As would any clever moves from you, mage."

 

Sarralyn

Jak's hand smothered me so harshly that I could barely breathe. The steel he held against my throat was icy cold, and sharp enough that the lightest touch cut my skin. I froze, realising that this wasn't another nightmare. He was right- breaking in to the palace had been easy for him. There wasn't even a sweat on his palm. How had he gotten in?

It was strange. This close, his hand had the softness of fine dust on it.

Numair stood up calmly and didn't attempt to step any closer to us. "Hullo, Jak."

A few months ago, I would have been furious at him, bewildered at the calmness. Now I knew him better; I could see how fast he was thinking behind those calm black eyes. Jak didn't move. When he replied, his voice was just as calm.

"If that animal makes a single noise, or moves, then Sarralyn will die,"

"Oh, you're going to kill her anyway. I can pretty much do what I want."

Jak reacted at that- I felt his hand twitch as if he was actually taken back by it. I couldn't believe my ears! The shock of it shook me out of my stunned stupor, and I realised that I was still holding my dagger. I shifted my hands slightly- not enough to raise suspicion, but enough to conceal the blade under a fold of my skirt. If he happened to glance down, my captor wouldn't see it. I gripped the hilt tightly and waited.

Jak laughed, dismissing his shock. "You can't bluff to me, Black Mage."

"Bluff?" Numair took a step closer, and then sat nonchalantly on another chair. "I'm not bluffing. I'm curious, though... how did you break in to my home?"

He hesitated. "The wildmage gave up her whole life to protect this..." his fingers tightened around my face. The dust made me want to sneeze. "this... girl. You'd have paid any ransom I asked."

"Wildmage? Oh, you mean Daine." The mage's voice was casual. "I'm Numair, by the way. Only children call us those names. We're people, not nursery rhymes. And, you see... that's where you've got it wrong, Jak. Your boss... what was his name again?"

"He's not my boss." Jak muttered darkly. Numair smiled and made a dismissive gesture.

"Oh, of course. Sorry, I figured that you were simple, thinking we were nursery rhymes... it's an understandable mistake, I suppose, but I apologise. No," he leaned forward, and with a shock I realised he was controlling the conversation. Jak was hanging on his every word. "The problem, you see, is that I really don't care about the girl. Your boss... oh, sorry, erm..."

"Sefan," Jak said automatically, tetchily.

"Yes, sorry... Sefan made it so that I never got to know Sarralyn. Why do you think I'll care about her now? She's basically a stranger, Jak. In a few months I might get to know her better, but even then I don't think I'd ransom her. Daine might. Have you asked her? Frankly, you'd get more money if you sold her to the slavers."

"No, no... this isn't right." Jak shook his head, and dust rained down from his hair. The tickle of it was starting to irritate me. Did he crawl here through a crypt, or something? "You're supposed to be honourable and... and care about people."

"I care about how you broke in to my home. But I see that the answer to that is quite simple, too." Numair looked him over slowly, and waved some of the dust out of the air. "You're a mage. You turned into a moth. Why on earth would you choose that over a wolf, or a bird?"

"Could a wolf have broken through your guards, Black Mage?" Jak tried bravado, but hesitated over Numair's name enough to make it fall flat. The other man shrugged.

"Depends on the wolf, doesn't it?" His voice changed suddenly, from casual to serious. "So what was the plan? You break in here, stop me from raising the alarm by holding her hostage, kill her anyway, and then fly out of the window with the other insects?"

Jak didn't say anything, but I could sense that that had been his plan. Spoken out loud in that serious, mocking voice, it sounded idiotic. Not that I was going to complain- he still held a blade to my throat. Numair sighed and tugged at his nose, as if he was trying to think of how to explain something to a young child.

"So, now that Kitten's closed the window, what's the new plan?"

The hand around my face loosened slightly as Jak instinctively turned to look. I reacted like a snake, and slashed at his hands with my dagger. He screamed and let go of his knife, thin blood pouring from the backs of both hands as he fumbled for it. In a split second I had stood up and grabbed his knife, surprised at how steady my hands were when I spun around to face him. He glared at me, one hand wrapped around the other in agony.

"You bastard," I said with venom. His eyes narrowed. I tensed for his next move, but he started to glow with a soft grey light.

"No, I don't think so." Numair said, streams of black light flowing from his hands. They wrapped around the glowing shape, forming a translucent barrier around it. The moth fluttered pathetically against the wall, and fell back when a black spark burned it. "Turn back into a human, please, or I'll stick a pin through you and give you to the lepidopterists."

He did, and as he stared up at us I saw the fear in his eyes. I remembered that he had been scared of Numair the last time he kidnapped me, too. Then, he'd been faced with a vague story of an enemy... now, he stared into a face that was set with anger, and the stories all suddenly, sickeningly, became real for him.

I shivered. I'd never seen my father that furious, either. I don't think he was Numair at that moment; I was seeing the mage who armies had fled from before I was born. All traces of the casual, mocking conversation were gone. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me so tightly that I could feel that he was shaking. I knew the calmness had been an act; I didn't realise how terrified he'd been until that moment.

"How dare you." He demanded. Jak looked down, unable to meet two pairs of irate black eyes. "Don't you and your... this Sefan... realise that they're playing with real people's lives? Real people, not stories, not toys... people."

"Don't lecture me," Jak said, his voice insolent, "I don't play games. I just do what I'm ordered to do, or paid to do. It's all the same to me."

"What about the other girl?" I asked abruptly, remembering what the priest had said to him. Jak blinked at me, his eyes strangely harrowed. Numair glanced at me, but I had to know. "The other girl you kidnapped? What happened to her? Who ordered that?"

He licked his lips nervously and looked away. "Ah, yes. You know about that, too. Do I confess all my crimes, before you kill me?" He leaned closer, heedless of the barrier crackling around him like spitting fat in a fire. "All of my crimes would have been forgiven, if only I'd killed you, my darlin'. The death of one little bitch cancels out the death of the other. That was my first crime... I guess you could say it was practice. It was beautiful. I flew in on silent wings, and the stupid little chit screamed. Things got a little... messy."

"I feel sick," I said, and then realised I'd spoken out loud. I turned it into an accusation. "You make me sick."

Numair's arm tightened around my shoulders. "That sounded like a confession, to me." He said coldly. "Would you prefer a dungeon or a glass tank, insect?"

Jak blinked, and for a second his bravado faded. "You're not going to kill me?" He blurted out. My father shook his head grimly and went to open the main door, beckoning for Luwi and the palace guard to come in. The men's eyebrows rose when they saw the trapped man grovelling on the floor, but they said nothing.

"It sounds like you have a lot to talk about. We'll find you a nice hole to rot in, while you think about what to say." Numair looked at the guard, who nodded, face set. When they escorted Jak from the room, the barrier followed him

The door clicked shut behind them. I was suddenly aware that daylight was streaming through the windows, and that the birds were starting to sing the dawn chorus outside. It seemed ridiculous. Numair still had his arm around me, and I turned and hugged him so tightly that not even a horde of kidnappers could have torn me away.

"You saved my life," I said quietly. "Thank you."

He smiled, "You were the one holding the knife, Sa." His expression changed to something uncertain, "Look, all the things I said..."

"I didn't believe a word of it," I reassured him, feeling strangely light. He smiled and held my face between his hands.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now- bed, young lady, while there's still some night left for you to sleep in!"

I didn't think I'd be able to ever sleep again, but as soon as my head hit the pillow I could feel exhaustion rolling over me like a tide. In the other room I heard the door click as Numair quietly left. I wondered how much Jak would tell him. I thought I would dream about it, but sleep brought only darkness.


	16. Sarralyn

"What are you doing?"

I looked up. Gregory leaned against the tree trunk casually, arms folded. "I'm practicing meditating. Aren't you supposed to be hitting people with sticks?"

"It's my morning off," he said easily. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "No, it's the truth this time!"

"Surely." I wondered if I could count to seven before he thought of something else to talk about. Numair had been trying to work out what the spell was that had cursed mama and I, so he had given me freedom to roam the palace grounds as much as I liked. My days had fallen into a pattern- every day I was to practice meditation, but other than that the day was my own. I made sure I saw my father every day, even if that meant taking some food into the depths of the library to coax him out of the archives for a while. Lolla laughed when I asked her if it was normal.

"I swear to Mithros that the man is naturally fat." She retorted, "He's just a glutton for books, not food."

She came up to the palace most days- sometimes dressed simply, sometimes in court-worthy splendour. She didn't always have time to speak to me, but she always winked or waved at me when she saw me. Numair said that she was bringing messages from the Dove to the king.

Gregory's mouth dropped open like a trapdoor the first time he saw Lolla wave at me. He spun around to me. "Do you know who that is?" he demanded. I shrugged and told him that I used to work for her. He shook his head in amazement.

"And your father lets you speak to her? She's a... a ... she's a lady of the night." He lowered his voice on the last few words, as if embarrassed to say them out loud. I looked at him levelly and asked him what was wrong with that, and he reddened and refused to answer.

I found it quite sweet that Gregory was so naive. It had never occurred to me that the way I lived was unusual. I was used to working, and mixing with people from all walks of life. He'd spent his life living on his family stronghold, studying to be a knight. Now that he was at the palace he'd discovered his natural ability to skive away from his duties. He told me, with some pride, that the master of the pages had been overheard declaring that it would be impossible to beat any more sense into him.

"But you should still study," I persisted. He shrugged and stuck his tongue out at me.

"I know more than you do, Sa. Nyeh!"

I laughed. It was silly and childish, but acting like that suited him. And he wasn't bad at his duties, he just treated them like hobbies rather than work. I settled for teasing him about them rather than trying to change his mind. Still, it did mean that he interrupted me more than I really liked, and several of the training instructors glowered at me when they saw me talking to their absent student.

"So, why're you mediating?"

"Meditating," I corrected him. "Mediating means 'helping an argument'. Meditating means... well, 'sitting still for ages counting how long it takes you to breathe'."

"Sounds dull." Gregory kicked his legs against the tree and eyed the overhanging branch. "I think I could climb that." He jumped for the branch, managed to grab it, and clambered up it clumsily. "So, why are you sitting still and counting when there's a perfectly good climbing tree right here?"

"Da says I have to. It's to do with breaking the spell."

"Oh yeah, the curse." He swung up to the next branch and winded himself landing on it. "Ooof! You know, they went to arrest that priest this morning?"

I looked up sharply. I hadn't known that at all. "They did?"

"Oh yes," his voice became muffled when he was momentarily sidetracked by a cluster of leaves. "He wasn't there. The temple said he went on a pilgrimage, but they didn't know which temple he's heading for. The smart money's on Carthak, since looking for a hag priest there would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Or a piece of hay in a haystack. There's a bird's nest up here!"

"Don't touch it!" I yelled up at him. He didn't answer, sighing, I started to clamber up after him. He was right: the tree was easy to climb. When I reached the top he was grinning at me, straddling a bough easily.

"I knew that'd make you climb. Look, you can see the forest from here!"

"More trees," I waved a hand dismissively. "Look, about the priest..."

"I don't know any more than that," he said quickly. I rolled my eyes, knowing what that meant. Another one of Gregory's talents was the way he eavesdropped on any trivial conversation that he found. He usually listened all the way to the end, though, especially if it was important. Leaving early only meant one thing.

"Sylvia was around, was she?" I asked mischievously. Gregory mimed shock and nearly fell out of the tree. It had taken me a few weeks to ask him about the girl he made such a point of avoiding, but when he eventually told me it was with a rueful smile. She was the daughter of a landowner whose fields bordered Gregory's family estate. His father had decided that his hapless son should marry her, and had sent her to court with a chest full of dresses and some borrowed jewels. As soon as she arrived, she started trailing after her betrothed with grim determination.

"Of course, I'll have to talk to her eventually," Gregory had told me, his voice matter-of-fact, "But not until we're married. I figure, if I avoid her enough, maybe she might catch the eye of some rich idiot from the north. Somewhere far away."

"Does she want to marry you?" I asked. He pulled a face at me.

"Who could resist?" He sobered for a moment, and in that second some of his boyishness faded. "I tried to talk her out of it. We wouldn't be happy, I told her that. She just sees security and nice dresses when she looks at me, and whenever I look at her I see my father, ordering me to agree."

The conversation had been awkward, and he'd quickly made a joke to stop me looking so uncomfortable. Now we were firm friends; I could tease him about it, but he still looked away whenever I mentioned Sylvia. This time he regained his balance on the tree and nodded.

"I swear, she can smell me out, like a hound."

"Everyone can smell you," I jibed, starting to climb down again. Gregory shook the tree to make it unsafe to climb, and I glared at him. "Look, I have to practice."

"Ergh, you're so boring." He said, but smiled and stopped shaking the tree. I jumped down the last few feet and dusted off my skirt. I had taken to kilting it up around my knees, uncomfortable with the flowing fabric around my legs. Lolla tsked whenever she saw it.

"How does this help with the curse, then?" My friend jumped out of the tree and promptly fell over, picking himself up as if he'd meant to do it. When I sat down cross-legged on the ground, he sat next to me.

"Well, you count to seven when you're breathing in, and hold it for seven, and then let it out for seven." I said. He raised an eyebrow.

"That's it?"

I sighed, wishing that it was that simple. No, then you clear your mind, which is difficult, and then you have to try to call the shadow creature to you, which is impossible, and then you get upset because it won't be called, and you lose concentration, and then you have to see da smiling and saying, 'it's okay, I know it's difficult.' And that's even worse than failing, because he really means it, but all I want to do is apologise.

Gregory was watching me levelly. I blinked and focused on him, trying to make myself smile. "Well, it's enough for today."

"Are you well, Sa?" He asked, his voice oddly quiet. I nodded, and this time he smiled back. "I think I can count to seven better than you can."

"How..." I started, exasperated, "It's a number, how can you count it better?"

"Watch me." He closed his eyes and started breathing. One eye cracked open to look back at me, staring at him with bewilderment. "See, I'm already mediating better than you."

I laughed and closed my eyes, too.

 

Daine

 

He ran through the forest, and I followed. I could almost smell his fear. Something had terrified him. I'd listened to the rumours in the market, risking getting closer to the palace to see what I could overhear. An assassin had been caught in the palace, attacking one of the ladies- a mage, some said. A murderer, a rapist. Someone who shouldn't be there. He'd been caught, trapped, and was now being held in the dungeons and questioned. Apparently he'd been bribed, or coaxed. The rumours didn't say what had happened to the lady. They were more concerned with the assassin. They placed bets on whether there'd be a public execution.

I shuddered at that and turned away. I had no taste for making suffering public, whoever it was. The crowd bayed for blood, and in that moment they were as heartless as the criminals. I knew Sarralyn was alive- the creature still lurked in my life- and that would have to be enough. I was content, knowing that Jak had been caught. It was exciting. It was a turning point.

Sefan had spent a few days buzzing around the temple like a feckless wasp, and then abruptly decided he was going to leave. I didn't blame him. I'd discarded my veil and green robes when I ran away from the temple, and now I watched through the rough cloak and tangled hair of a farming peasant. If the temple caught me- one who had turned away from her vows to the goddess- they would kill me. Their laws were harsh, but I didn't care. I watched Sefan like a hawk, and when he ran, I followed.

He knew that I was trailing him. I saw no reason to keep it secret. I enjoyed his terror, the way he stumbled over roots when I rustled branches behind him. On the third day I crept up to his bonfire and watched him through the leaves until he slept. When he was snoring fitfully, I tied his hands and feet with rope, and then waited for him to wake up. When he opened his eyes he couldn't move at all. I sat opposite him in a tailor's seat.

"Doesn't this feel familiar," I said lightly. He shifted, straining against the rope. "Oh, I wouldn't bother. If you run, I'll shoot you." I gestured at my bow, watching his eyes focus on it and dilate in terror.

"I never hurt you," he said. "I'm not a monster. I just..."

I gagged him, tired of his stupid words. "You are a monster. Do you think you have to sink a knife into someone's flesh to hurt them? Be quiet."

He made a noise- uurmph! But I ignored it. I left him there, tied and helpless on the forest floor, and went hunting. I wasn't worried that he'd be in danger- I had very little magic left, but I had enough to be able to tell which immortals and People were in the area. At the most, a fox would scare him and he'd get cold in the autumn air. I went hunting because I was angry- so angry that I couldn't think sensibly. I knew that talking to the priest would help both of us more than hurting him, but I wanted him to suffer. When I looked at him, all I could see was him sending Jak off to murder my daughter. I could see the fear in her black eyes, which lingered even after she was safe in the trees. I could remember how difficult it was to leave her there, knowing that if Numair came a few steps closer she would die. Every time I looked at his face, I saw things that made me hate him.

I shot a hare, then took it back to his camp and started skinning it. I barely looked at him. Hours passed while I kept my hands busy- cooking the hare, fetching firewood, laying out my bedroll. He watched me constantly, as if taking his eyes off me would give me an excuse to kill him.

When the hare was cooked I hesitated, and then cut the rope binding Sefan's wrists. He blinked at me, not making a sound even when I took the gag out of his mouth.

"You must be hungry." I said, my voice rough. He started and looked at the hare, roasting over the fire. "I'll not starve you."

He thought for a moment, and then pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as his long-still muscles complained. When I handed him some food he hesitated before he took it, but then bit into it ravenously. I sat opposite him, idly picking apart my share of the hare as I thought.

"They're hunting for you," I said eventually. "The soldiers. They'll find you. You're easy to find."

His eyes flicked to the fire. I'd deliberately made it a lot bigger than it needed to be. People from miles away would know where we were. "So they'll be here soon." He said flatly. It wasn't a question. I nodded anyway.

"Of course, I can't talk to them about any of this. It was nice of you to send your own message, making Jak go off like that. Perhaps you should do that again. Perhaps, if you decided to tell certain people certain things, they might let you live. I hear a full confession is good for the soul." I looked at his filthy hag-robe, and felt my lips twitch into a smile. "I know the Hag, you know. I met her in Carthak. I think she would genuinely like you, if you were really a priest."

"Are you telling me to take a message to Corus?" he asked carefully, a strange glint in his eye. I shook my head, refusing to be tricked that easily.

"Not at all. I'm just saying that, well, when the guards get here they will be angry. The people in the market want you dead, did you know that?" I saw him blanch, and realised that it must be why he ran away. "But if you asked to see the king's justice, well, they'd have no choice but to take you back to Corus. Alive. And unharmed." I said pointedly.

"Very clever," he conceded, looking thoughtful. "And how, miss, do you know that I'll tell the truth to this king's justice? I could just tell them they have the wrong man."

"And I'm sure Jak would agree with you. The way I hear it, the fact that you told him to kill Sarralyn is the only thing keeping him alive. But I'm sure he'll sacrifice himself to save you." I couldn't stop myself from sounding scathing. Sefan flinched at the reminder and glared at me, flinging the hare bones away. The rattle of the bones was echoed by a strange gibbering sound, and we both instinctively sighed when the creature bounded into the clearing, grinding one of the bones in its jaws. Today it was some kind of lizard. Sefan didn't have his knife, and when the shadow realised that he wasn't going to draw his own blood, it bit into his leg sharply and lapped at the flow from there, heedless of how much it splashed around.

"What happens if you don't feed it?" I asked quietly. Sefan shrugged.

"Blood gives it a physical presence. If I didn't feed it, it'd go to you or your brat. We're the only people it's linked to. But I gave it blood to draw it through the realms, so I guess it developed a taste for it."

The creature burped loudly and suddenly looked around, as if it had heard something. I looked up to ask Sefan what it could be, and then realised he looked just as confused as I did. This was something new, then. The creature looked back at its meal and whined, then abruptly darted off down the forest trail.

 

Sarralyn

 

I did it! My eyes flew open. I had called the creature and it had heard me. I don't know how I knew... somehow the voice in my head had been different, as though my thoughts were louder than usual. All I knew was: it had heard me.

I looked around, wondering if it would really fly to me. It was raining, so I'd been doing my meditation practice in one of the empty classrooms that wasn't used for lessons until the afternoon. Gregory had sat beside me, as he usually did, and like normal he was snoring happily, dozing away his free time. I poked him in the ribs to wake him up, and then ducked when he instinctively swiped out at me.

"Wake up, Greg!" I hissed, "I think..." I stopped, realising I didn't know what I thought. He opened his mouth to make a pithy comment, and then caught sight of my expression. His face set into something serious, although the illusion was spoiled slightly when he yawned widely.

"Aauuuhh...What's wrong?"

"I called the demon here," I said, my words running into each other. "It was an accident. I felt like I might be able to reach it if I tried, so I did, and now... it heard me."

"Do you want me to fetch your father?" He asked rapidly. I shook my head.

"I don't know where he is. Can you just... stay awake? Just in case. I don't want to be alone if it..." I couldn't think what I meant. I wasn't scared of the demon, but Sefan terrified me. The thought that the demon was his creature was sickening. "What should I say to it?"

"Say?" He frowned and scratched his head idly. "Why don't you tell it a joke?"

"Be serious!" I shoved at him, and he made a fool's show of staggering backwards from my inhuman strength. Despite myself, I smiled at the action. He grinned and clapped his hand on my shoulder.

"That's better. You should smile more; you don't look as ugly when you're smiling." He took hold of my hand gently and held it, his palm warm and dry against my cold skin. "Don't worry, I'll stay with you."

I blinked and looked down at our hands, and then looked up at him. He smiled cheekily as if the gesture was as impersonal as throwing acorns at me from a tree. In a conspiring voice, he said, "Now, when it gets here, you should describe it to me. I've never met an invisible demon before, and I want to know exactly how many teeth I should be running away from. And if my scream is a higher pitch than yours, I humbly request you do not tell the other pages."

Describe it? When it appeared I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe; I gripped Gregory's hand tightly, trying not to shrink away.

"What does it look like?" He asked levelly, his even voice breaking through my fear. I swallowed and started speaking.

"Well, it looks like a lizard. It's about the size of a dog, but it has a longer neck with lacy... er, frills on it. And it's made of shadows, so it's just dark, really. It looks curious. It's staring at us. It's growling."

"Your dragon's growling back," Gregory observed. Kitten kept her distance from it this time. I had told her off for attacking it before- not because I thought she could kill it, but because it effortlessly threw her halfway across a room. This time, she growled at it, but unless it came closer she made no move to attack it.

The creature snarled back, then abruptly switched its attention to the humans in the room. Its eyes passed over me casually, and then narrowed when it saw Gregory.

"It's...er..." I stuttered, trying to predict its next move. "It doesn't like you."

"Given that it's some dark demon which thrives on evil, I'm flattered." He said breezily. The creature roared, and leapt. I gasped and threw myself at Gregory, knocking him out of the way. The creature hit my side full on- I felt the impact- and then it turned into smoke and drifted past easily. I swear I could hear it sniggering. We landed heavily on the floor, and when I caught my breath enough to look around, it had vanished.

"It's gone," I whispered, "It just wanted to scare me."

"Well, that was nice of it." My friend said. His voice had lost some of its assurance, until he grinned and linked his hands behind his head. "Feel free to get off me whenever you feel like it."

I coloured and pushed myself away. Greg sat up and made a show of dusting off his sleeves.

"I need to remember that one. Don't suppose you can lend me your curse for a few days? I could protect the ladies..."

"Oh, shut up!" I clouted him, and laughed when he mimed being knocked flat again. "I didn't know what it would do. I suppose I should go and find Numair now."

"Why don't you call him father?" Gregory took up the conversation as easily as if we hadn't just been attacked by some demonic creature. I shrugged, and stood up. The movement made me wince- my side ached where the shadow had hit me. When I pulled the edge of my shirt up to look, a livid bruise was just starting to bloom around the edge of my ribcage.

"Gods," I looked up, surprised to see that Greg's face had gone pale. He spoke in a shocked whisper. "It was really out to get me, wasn't it?"

"It turned into a shadow," I assured him, but when I turned away I couldn't help biting my lip. I had no way of telling whether it would have done that if it had hit my friend. And as much as Gregory tried to make jokes and laugh when we walked to the library, I could see that he had realised that, too.


	17. Sarralyn

Numair looked up from the book he'd been reading. I thought the interruption might have annoyed him, but he grinned and shut the tome in a flurry of dust. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd introduce me to Master Caffen, Sarralyn."

I frowned, confused. "You had me followed around the palace?"

"Would I do such a thing?" He pulled a face at me, all wounded innocence, and then looked straight at Gregory. "One of your instructors was in here a few days ago. Apparently you," he nodded at me, "are a bad influence. Distracting him from his studies, helping him sneak away from his lessons..."

"Me?" I gasped, completely forgetting why we'd ventured into the library, "I never... he's really good at sneaking himself away from lessons, I never..."

"Well aren't you just a wonderful friend in times of need." Gregory muttered. When I glared at him, he stuck his tongue out at me and then bowed formally to Numair while I was still tongue tied. "Master Salmalin, how long does it normally take your charming, but gullible, daughter to realise she's being teased?"

Numair grinned wolfishly and pushed his chair back from the table. "How do you know it's not true, boy?"

Gregory stuck his hands in his pockets insolently and lounged against a bookshelf, not caring when the ancient wood creaked loudly. "If you were really angry, you wouldn't have waited a few days before talking to us... and besides, my teachers usually prefer to cuff my ears than to talk to busy, important people like yourself about my insignificant little misdeeds."

"Hm." Numair raised an eyebrow, and then looped an arm around my shoulders. "Clever, isn't he?" He said in a stage whisper. I saw Greg sticking his tongue out at my father from behind his back and giggled.

We told Numair about the shadow while we ate lunch, sitting at one of the huge wooden tables which filled the kitchen. He listened with his usual intent silence, only asking a question at the end of it: you're not hurt, are you?

I showed him the bruise, and Gregory made a great show of a splinter he'd picked up from being hurled against the floor. My father sighed and steepled his fingers together in front of his face, thinking. Gregory took the opportunity to steal a biscuit from the mage's plate. After biting into it he whimpered and gently put it back on the table, checking to see if his teeth were still attached to his head.

"You'f turned it into a stone?" He demanded fuzzily. Numair glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes, and then returned to staring into space.

"Just because I'm thinking doesn't mean you can steal my food, boy."

"F'not called boy!" Greg saw me trying to hide a smile and kicked me under the table. "F'not funny!"

"But you won't be stealing my food again, will you? I wasn't lying about your instructor talking to me, by the way." Numair blinked a few times and focused back on the table, picking up the stone-biscuit and biting through it easily. "I told them that you were helping my daughter with her magical training- which is true, and I'm grateful to you. But if I'm going to be responsible for you, I won't have you behaving like a child. Your instructors were quite pleased to get rid of you for a few weeks, actually."

"I can imagine," I murmured, smirking. Gregory kicked me again, but his eyes were shining.

"Now," Numair said, "About this creature... now that we know that it can be summoned, Sarralyn, I don't think you should summon it again..."

"I wasn't planning to!" I said fervently. He glanced up and shook his head.

"No, sweetheart, I was going to say: you shouldn't summon it again until we have some magical barriers in place." He caught my hand, seeing how the idea made me grimace. "It's going to come back sooner or later. You might as well be the one setting the time."

"You didn't see the thing, er, sir. I mean, I didn't either, I guess, but... that thing is scary." Gregory's voice was completely honest, but his attempt to defend me made me raise my head. I wasn't going to be a coward, hiding from something because it frightened me! And, as much as I liked Greg, I wasn't going to let him act like he was suddenly in charge of protecting me, like I was one of his hapless ladies. I glowered at him, my voice suddenly decisive.

"It's been scary since I was a baby. I told mama I wasn't going to keep running away from her... her secrets. I'm not going to start now, just because it has teeth... And besides, if da says he can protect me from it, then I believe him."

Gregory held up his hands in surrender. "Fine! Pardon me for speaking out!"

"You don't have to get involved, you know." Numair's voice was gentle, but Gregory bristled at the words as if they were shouted insults.

"I'm fine, sir." He said stiffly. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to help."

"Good." Numair smiled, and then changed the topic briskly. "Now, about these barriers..."

He spoke to us for a long while, trying to explain the spell. I can't pretend that I understood all of it, but I got the gist of it after he stopped using complicated words. To my annoyance, Gregory managed to understand a lot faster than I did, and then started looking smug whenever I asked a question. I was getting ready to kick him again when Numair said something which brought me back into the conversation with a bump.

"Sarralyn, that's when you'll have to call it, and convince it to get into the circle so we can trap it."

"Trap it?" I repeated, hardly believing my ears. "You- you mean you're not going to kill it?"

"I don't think it's even mortal," he said, sounding impatient. "No, I can't kill it. If I'm going to destroy it I have to be able to study it, and if I'm going to study it then it has to be trapped."

"Trapped." I said flatly. "So... stuck in a circle, getting angrier and angrier at me, and... you have no clue whether you'll ever be able to destroy it?"

"I didn't say that." He sounded annoyed. "Do you think I can destroy spells by snapping my fingers at them? I have to know how something was made, or how can I know how it should be destroyed? That's why this spell is so effective... I hate to say impressive, but that priest has managed to create a spell that's almost impossible to destroy. Invisible to the sight, invisible to mortal eyes, and it forces the cursed person to hide! No, I can't destroy it. But I know enough about it now that I can trap it. It won't be able to hurt you- it'll have no influence over anything outside of the circle. Happy?"

"And how long can you keep it there?" I demanded. He shrugged in reply. To my mind he was being deliberately obtuse, but in hindsight he probably just didn't want to worry me. Still, his answer wasn't reassuring:

"As long as I need to."

"What was that about you believing him?" Greg muttered. I scowled at him and opened my mouth to answer, but Numair interrupted me.

"Look, if you two want to bicker about this, go ahead... but I have work to do." He stood up, still sounding annoyed, and left so quickly it didn't even occur to me to say goodbye. Gregory and I exchanged looks- his still sardonic, mine irritated. I felt like a scolded child, and I blamed my friend for it. If he hadn't interfered, and been so childish, then Numair would have spoken to me like an adult. He would have taken me seriously. He wouldn't have lectured me like that. But now that Greg was involved, I had become just one of the children getting in his way.

Something cold in my mind knew that none of that was really true, but I was too cross to listen to it.

"I think he can protect you," Greg was saying earnestly, trying to heal the rift between us. Seeing my face set like thunder, he hastened to add, "Well, he is the most powerful mage in the kingdom."

"He's an idiot." I said. "So are you. Why don't you leave me alone?"

"He's trying to help you. And you shouldn't say things like that... I mean, just because you're his daughter doesn't mean you can say..."

"He's not trying to help me. He's trying to help himself." I snapped, finally able to say what had been bothering me since I found out about the whole mess. "He's trying to get mama back. He doesn't care that it's dangerous, or that it could kill me. He just wants to solve it, like it's some king of riddle, and get mama back."

I expected Greg to argue with me, to tell me that of course my father cared about my safety. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and looked at me archly.

"So what?" He asked, "As long as it gets solved, who cares how?"

I opened my mouth to answer, choked, and glared at him. He shrugged and stood up, walking away without another word. I found my voice for long enough to yell after him, "Where are you going?"

"Away, as the fair lady requested." he said, his voice as distant as I'd ever heard it, but before he left he looked around suddenly, his voice quite harsh. "When you've finished wallowing in self pity, you might want to apologise to your father. If I spoke to my papa the way you just did, I'd be cleaning out the stables for weeks."

 

Gregory

 

Climbing on the castle walls made him feel better, but not much. The stone was just starting to grow cold, as the balmy autumn weather started to fade. He walked along the battlements for a while, and then decided that just walking wasn't enough of a challenge. He climbed onto the lip of stone that overhung the curtain wall, and started to balance his way towards the main portcullis.

His instructors were baffled by how he managed to disappear from classes. His fellow pages never saw him leave, or spotted him in corridors. The answer was really quite simple- Gregory loved to climb, and would rather scale a wall to climb down a tower than wind his way down the stairs. He never realised it was an odd way to travel until he started his page training, and then he found out how invisible it made him to most people. They weren't in the habit of looking up. It helped him to indulge his second favourite hobby: eavesdropping.

When he neared the portcullis he grinned, his fight with Sarralyn forgotten. A troop of soldiers were just arriving, their horses sweating from a rough ride and a few days in the forest. When he got close enough he could see their prey, hogtied and slung over a saddle like a deer corpse. A grimy robe flapped around the prisoner's bony frame, so filthy that it was impossible to see what it once was. Gregory lay on his stomach on the cold stone, resting his chin in his hands and watching the strangely official dance of soldiers meeting guards, saluting, and receiving permission to walk through the gates. When they crossed the threshold into the castle the soldiers pulled the prisoner from the horse carelessly. He sprawled onto the cobbles, and they tugged him to his feet. They marched him into the castle with his hands tied behind him and a petulant expression on his face. That didn't stop him from speaking, loudly and persistently.

"You left my accomplice behind, you idiots!" He told the castle at large, and the solders escorting him in particular. "She was right there, in the forest with me. How could you miss her? Aren't you going to bring her here, or did you just want an old man for a scapegoat? Gods bless it, it was her idea!"

One of the knights looked up and nodded at a soldier. Gregory knew what that meant- it was as good as an order. He swung down from the wall, using the portcullis as a ladder. The accomplice woman was as good as caught. He stared at the prisoner with blatant curiosity, until the man scowled at him. The action didn't scare the boy; he stuck his tongue out in reply, and sauntered off.


	18. Daine

I woke up and put a hand to my head, wincing when it came away tacky with dried blood. The trees spun- no, that wasn't right. I felt like the world was moving around me because it was. I had passed out on the forest floor, I remembered that, and now I was in a wooden cart. A horse was pulling it- not the kind of solid plough horse that should be dragging a cart, but a skittish looking mare. She pulled against the yoke fitfully, as if she'd never pulled a cart before.

How had I got here? I sat up to look around, and something heavy clinked around my ankle. I looked down and felt cold- my feet had been chained together. I guess whoever's cart this was wanted me to stay on it. I looked around, and saw the uniforms of the palace soldiers.

"Excuse me," I asked the nearest one, "What's going on?"

He glanced around, and then turned to stare resolutely ahead. No answers from there, then. I decided to ask the horse. Her ears flicked back when I greeted her, but it took a few times before she responded.

Are you really talking, human? she asked, Your voice is as weak as a foal's first step.

It's me. I assured her, cursing my lack of magic. I would feel more tired from this conversation than I would have done if I'd shape shifted into ten different animals before the war. Still, it was important to know... Where are we going?

Home. She said fitfully, wrenching her head against her bridle. We found you in the forest, and then turned around again. They made me pull this stupid thing. I don't like it.

I'm sorry, I said earnestly. Whoever had strapped her to the cart had made a bad job of it, and unless she was untied soon, the straps would start cutting into her skin. She shook her head and snorted loudly, showing me how little my sympathy really mattered to her. We carried on in silence for a few minutes, until she surprised me by asking a question.

What was the creature you were fighting? Was it one of the People?

No! I retorted sharply. She whickered, and I apologised again. I tried to explain...

They must have seen me struggling with the shadow. Perhaps that was why they chained me up. I had been drifting through the forest, trying to think of something to do. I had no idea what I should do... I had caught the priest, and the soldiers had taken him away. I watched them, followed them for a few days, and then left them to it. I couldn't get close to the castle, so there was little point my risking being seen. Sefan seemed resigned enough to his fate. As I'd told him, as soon as he demanded to see Numair, the soldiers hadn't laid a hand on him.

Neither of us knew what had happened when the creature had been called away, but it hadn't occurred to me that interrupting its feed would bring it back sooner than usual. Hungry, it had come to me, and snarled at me for food.

I fed it.

I hate to think about it. Even then, I was sick at the thought that I was nourishing the thing that had been created to murder my daughter. But the first thought in my mind was- it hadn't gone to Sefan. If I refused to feed it, it would go to Sarralyn. Would its hunger confuse it enough to kill her? Even if it just drank her blood, it would likely maul her to get at it. She wouldn't understand. In the end, I decided it was better to cut my own skin than risk hers.

So it drank from the cut in my arm, and as it drank I realised something. The blood it drank filled its body, and for a few moments I could touch it. Sefan had told me that it drank to keep its physical form, but I hadn't realised what that meant: when it was drinking, it was real. It was in the mortal realm.

My dagger was still in my hand from cutting my arm. Without thinking, I stabbed the creature in the throat. It shifted at the last moment, roaring and keening, and the blade only passed through its shoulder. But... it cut it! It was hurt, and even though it turned into a shadow straight away afterwards, it still limped from that wound. I held my breath, wondering what it would do, and then it leapt.

I couldn't defend myself from a shadow. It didn't seem to care how it hurt me, it just attacked me with teeth and claws in a blind fury. The swipe to my head knocked me unconscious, and that must have been how the soldiers had found me. Still, it surprised me to think that the horse had seen the creature. I asked her about it, and she flicked one ear back nonchalantly.

We all saw it. The humans were talking about it for hours.

I sat back, thinking rapidly. Perhaps it could be seen when it was hurt, or well fed, or angry... I was still thinking when one of the riders trotted up alongside the cart. His face was set, and his voice was tight when he said, "We will stop to make camp soon, and a healer will see to your injuries."

"Thank you," I said, the politeness surprising him. "But there's no need. The gift doesn't work on me; he'll just get a headache. Can you please tell me why I've been chained?"

He looked at me archly. "Because you worked in cohorts with the hag priest Sefan, and together plotted to assassinate the daughter of the king's justice."

I blinked at him, and then started laughing. His expression darkened; he thought I was mocking him. I shook my head, trying to gulp down my laughter long enough to explain, but before I could he rode off.

But then, how could I have explained? I couldn't tell him who I was, and I certainly couldn't tell him what I was doing with Sefan or the shadow in the forest. I had to lie, and for the first time people knew I was lying. Their hands magically dusted, they could see the red flare of a lie whenever I spoke. They believed my lies to be to protect myself; however much they demanded I tell them my real name, or my purpose, I couldn't answer. After the second day they stopped asking. They stopped even looking at me, and simply escorted the cart in cold silence. I asked them where they were taking me, and felt sick when they said: Corus.

"But... you can't!" I insisted, my words falling on deaf ears. I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated. "You think I want to kill Sarralyn? I don't, but if you take me to Corus she will die!" They shrugged and scoffed and made jokes to each other about my sudden chattiness. I tried in vain to make them understand. "Look, use your truth dust- gods, I'm telling the truth!"

The day before we crossed the last river before Corus, I decided that I had to escape. I waited, waited... I watched them as intently as I dared, not wanting them to realise what I was doing. You have to understand, I didn't want to hurt them... if I had been given their orders I would have followed them to the letter, too. But I couldn't let them set off the curse.

I waited until they were mostly asleep, their breathing deep in the night silence. It amazed me, really, the way that they snored. We used to sew pine cones into the backs of our recruits' shifts if they were given to snoring, so that they would turn and sleep on their sides. But I guess there was less need for that now. It made me hopeful- if training had become less strict about things like that, then maybe they would be easy to sneak away from.

I closed my eyes, hoping that the man on guard would see my lying still and think that my deep breathing meant that I, too, was asleep. Instead, I meditated. I hadn't shapeshifted for years- I couldn't afford to waste what little magical strength I had on it- so there was no way that I'd be able to change my whole body and fly away. But I might be able to shift my feet, just a few seconds- just make them shrink a little, so I could slip them free of the chains.

It took me well over an hour to do it. I nearly gave up so many times, and then tried again, almost crying with frustration. I used to be able to do this without even thinking about it; now it was as difficult as learning to heal all over again. I had to force myself to calm down, to breathe evenly. Then, finally, as if some watching god had taken pity on me, I felt the strange fluid shiver of my feet changing shape. I opened my eyes and yanked them free of the chains, the shock of having actually done it surprising me so much that I lost the shape in my mind, and they grew back into human feet. My left foot was painfully squeezed by the link as it grew, and I had to grit my teeth to stop from swearing. But then... I was free! I didn't move straight away, but stayed still for another half hour, waiting. A cloud drifted over the half moon, and the world became almost pitch black.

Then I started to move. I sat up slowly, smoothly, knowing that fast motions would draw the eye as rapidly as frozen stillness. The sensible thing to do would be to jump over the edge of the cart and hide behind it, so I didn't. They'd be watching for that. I simply crawled to the back and slid off the boards onto the soft grass. It was wet with dew- curses. I would be leaving footprints, which they would see when the moonlight came back. Ah well. I crept out of the camp on silent feet, walking inches away from a snoring guard, and as soon as I was behind the trees I ran for it.

My heart was already pounding from fear, but when I started running it was almost painful. My swollen foot hurt, and every cut where the shadow had lunged at me screamed at me. I knew I couldn't get far- they hadn't fed me much, and I was only allowed a few swallows of water a day to keep me weak. But that didn't matter. I didn't need to get far. I just needed to find somewhere to hide. I skidded through a clearing and then stopped, nearly crying out in horror. Three fat, bloated spidren were clustered around the corpse of a deer, worrying at it and kicking it as if it were a toy. When they heard my footsteps they looked around, almost bored, their faces sliding into sadistic grins when they saw me.

"Well, another little straggler from the hunting party," one of them drawled, waving a rough knife in a back hand. I saw the rags of torn leather armour on the ground and realised that the deer was all that was left of a hunt. I hoped the humans had run away, but by the looks of it they'd met a worse fate than their prey. I swallowed and took a step back, looking around for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing- no stones, no pebbles even. My eyes lit on a branch, and I picked it up and hefted the heavy weight. A cut on my arm ached sharply as the spidren giggled.

"You've already eaten, seems like." I said clearly, wishing my voice was stronger. "How about I just leave you to it, and you can enjoy it without your faces smashed in?"

One of the creatures tsked at me, shaking his head and still smiling. "Was that a threat, little mortal?" He asked, and then smirked at my branch. "Nice bit of kindling you've got there. You need a fire to go with it."

"Look," I said wearily, "I don't have time for banter. Either attack me or go away."

"Threats and ultimatums." The second spidren looked pleased for knowing the word, and for joining in the first one's jibe. She licked her lips slowly, knowing that the action would draw attention away from her spinneret as she freed it to shoot web at me. I knew the trick, and ducked behind a tree. The web spun past me harmlessly, and she gave a frustrated shout. The other spidren laughed loudly, mocking her. I tried to go around them, creeping through the trees, but they followed me easily. I couldn't run away; the camp was so close behind me that I wouldn't have time to change the route, and I didn't want the soldiers to get attacked any more than I wanted to be hurt.

Perhaps I might still have been able to hide while they were arguing, if one of them hadn't been more clever than the others. He peered down the trail I'd followed from the camp, sniffing the air and, of course, the fires in the camp were full of smoking damp wood. The creature's eyes thinned when he realised that more mortals were nearby, defenceless and sleeping next to their badly-built fires.

I couldn't let it happen. I needed to escape from the soldiers, but that didn't mean I wanted them to be attacked! If they were as bad at fighting as they were at harnessing horses and building fires, they would be massacred!

I picked up a stone, aimed carefully, and hurled it at the spidren before he could tell the others about the camp. It struck him square on the mouth, dislodging silver teeth and breaking his jaw with a sharp crack!

I didn't wait to see the results. As soon as I knew he was mute, I ran. And when the immortals followed me this time, they weren't mocking me or playing. They howled for my blood. Among their screams I heard distant shouts: the soldiers! The noise had finally woken them, or maybe they had just realised that their prisoner was missing.

Well, finding a good hiding spot would solve both my problems. I stared around frantically as I ran, stumbling over roots in the darkness when my eyes slipped from my feet to the trail ahead. I spotted the dark ooze of a sinkhole when I'd almost run past it- not ideal, but in the shade of the trees it might be enough. I dived in, covering my skin and hair in the foul mud until I looked like one of the rotten pieces of wood which lurked on the surface. I held on to a root near the edge, fingers slipping on the rotten bark, and waited. I wished the pit was shallow enough for my feet to touch the bottom; even treading water would give me away. I prayed that the root would hold.

The spidren thundered past, tearing up the forest floor and the tree trunks that their flailing arms and legs struck on the way past. I held my breath, not making a sound.

The soldiers were close behind them. That surprised me; I hadn't expected them to be that quick. They streamed after the spidren in a shouting wave, and then there was silence. I heaved myself out of the sinkhole as soon as they left the clearing, the heavy mud dragging my down and making my arms shiver.

And then I froze. A man was watching me, just as frozen. He was young- hardly more than a child, probably on his first outing. His helmet dangled from skinny fingers; I guessed he'd been left behind by the other soldiers while he was still getting dressed. He stared at me- at the swamp monster I looked like- in something close to horror. I opened my mouth to say... I don't know, anything... and then saw the shadow moving behind him.

"Look out!" I yelled, scrabbling on the ground for another stone to throw. The spidren reared away, remembering how the last stone had broken his face. I cursed- how could I be so stupid? Of course the cursed thing would stay behind, it was too clever to expect me to run. And the boy- idiot, idiot, idiot! He stood there, frozen in fear, staring at the spidren without a weapon in his hands or a thought in his head. I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from yelling at him- the boy was frightened, and shouting wouldn't help.

The spidren dodged when I hurled the stone, rearing far enough away for me to run forward and snatch the soldier's sword from his scabbard. He instinctively grabbed at it, and I rolled my eyes. Now he moves! The weapon was too heavy for me, but at least I would use it, rather than being killed with it still strapped to my waist.

Still, I struggled with the sword. I've never had to use one. I would almost do better fighting with bare hands, but... at least the sword was sharp. If I hadn't already half-blinded this creature with pain, I wouldn't have dared to try. The spidren rounded on me slowly, trying to edge closer to the boy without my knowing. We both knew that the soldier was a weak target, and I could see the gleam in the immortal's eyes.

"Boy," I said, trying to breathe evenly and make my voice calm, "Run away. There's nothing you can do here. Run."

The soldier hesitated. The spidren lunged at him. The blow sent the soldier reeling, blood pouring from above one eye when he fell against a tree branch. The immortal laughed, the sound a shapeless mush in its ruined mouth. The boy held up his hands in pitiable defence, eyes blurred with blood and tears as the spidren bore down on him.

"Stop it... leave him alone!" I yelled, slashing out wildly at the creature. I was lucky; the edge of the blade cut across one sticklike limb. It screamed wordlessly and whirled around, lashing out at me blindly. A claw caught me across one arm; I heard the skin tear rather than felt it, and the pain made me stumble to my knees, the sword clattering from suddenly numb fingers. Finally, finally I saw the boy stand up and run away. He was safe then... the creature was after me. It looked after its fleeing prey briefly, and I took the chance to dive into the undergrowth and scramble away. I heard that shapeless laugh again, and then there was a sound like rain... the sound of webbing dripping through the leaves to trap me. I crept forwards, hiding under the thickest branches now I couldn't move away. I could hear it using my stolen sword to cut away leaves, and the angry noises it made when the sword was stuck in its own web.

Let it get bored, I prayed, Let it give up. Let it pass out.

I pressed a hand to my arm, frowning at the warm dampness of my sleeve. When I pulled the cloth away from my skin it cooled in the night air, soaked with blood. How odd, I thought giddily. It doesn't need to bleed that much. Not really.

I let the cloth fall back, holding my arm tightly above the wound to slow the blood flow until it could scab over. I couldn't move away, but I curled up on the ground to make myself as small as possible. The soil was dry dust here, protected from the autumn rains by leaves and smelling slightly of rabbits. It was oddly comforting. I pillowed my head on one hand, too tired to remember why my fingers were sticky with red liquid. The air smelled of copper. How strange.

 

A Soldier Said... 

The soldier stumbled after the others, his head reeling where he'd hit it. He sobbed, half in pain, half in relief. When he saw the other men he shouted out at them, not caring that they were all his superiors,

"You gotta come quick, and help her!"

The men looked up, barely noticing the bloodstained soldier. They had their own stains; the clearing was full of dead spidren, slain by sword and spear, but the immortals had taken their own toll. They had heard the creatures screaming and followed, knowing that even a small rogue immortal pack could ravage a village or town. The youngest soldier persisted, almost tugging at the captain's sleeve in his haste to explain to them- that the women they'd arrested had saved his life, but oh, we have to help her! She's hurt, and that thing is so strong, and she'll never be able to fight it on her own, and...

The captain listened with half an ear, but nodded to his men. They needed to take the woman back to Corus alive; if a spidren killed her there would be a lot of explaining to do. They returned to the clearing, and found a single crazed immortal slashing at a fern thicket as if the leaves would fight back. They killed it easily; it barely noticed the spears, so intent was it on the ferns.

When they searched the thicket, they found the woman curled up under a sturdy gorse bush. The soil under her was soaked in blood, and the captain sighed. She was dead, then. Blood still coursed from a long, deep cut along her arm. The boy cried out and ran to her, and when he touched her hand her fingertips twitched. He rapidly tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and made it into a tourniquet, more confident as a healer than he was as a soldier.

"Bloody fool," The captain said flatly, "Trying to escape when there are crawlies around."

"She'd've made it, if she hadn't stopped to save me," The boy snapped. Some of the other soldiers made gibes, but the captain sighed again and glanced at the lightening sky.

"That's as may be, lad, but it's not our business. We're not here to ask or listen, that's the justice's job. If we're going to get her back to Corus alive, then, we should start off soon."


	19. Sarralyn

"That's it?" I asked, staring at the room incredulously. I had expected... I don't know, candles and arcane runes, and shutters carefully barred to block out the light. I hadn't expected a room with chairs neatly stacked around the walls, and wide open windows. True, there was at least a circle neatly drawn on the swept floorboards in chalk, and a few symbols carefully placed around it, but it still looked like a place to spin thread, not trap a monster. Numair raised an eyebrow at my comment, guessing what I was thinking, and looked around at his work.

"It's basically the same spell I used on Jak. I just reinforced it a bit. A lot, actually." He amended, seeing the face I pulled at him.

"I guess I just expected it to look more solid," I admitted, walking slowly around the circle. There was an unheeded dead fly lying shrivelled on one floorboard. The whole thing looked so... normal. "But then, I can't see magic, can I? So I guess it's all castles, keeps and prisons from where you're standing."

"It might be, but there's no magic in it at the moment. I have to wait until the... the thing... is in the circle. Then we slam the door shut on it, to use your analogy."

"I have to get it in the circle?" I asked, then realised the question was stupid and coloured. "I mean- I can't control it, or anything. I can just talk to it more loudly with my mind than my voice. I know that sounds stupid."

"Not at all," he smiled absently, checking a mark, and then looked at me levelly. "Think of it like any other creature- coax it or trick it if you can't order it. It's interesting that you make the distinction between the two. Daine had a lot of trouble telling whether she was hearing with her ears or with her mind, at first."

I looked away. Mama had wild magic, not some shadow creature whispering in her head. Of course she heard the animals with her ears! Birds sing, dogs bark, cats purr... they make noises. This was totally different. I would have pointed it out to Numair, but he seemed distracted checking his symbols, so I held my tongue. I'd been dreading this morning since Numair had outlined the plan, but now that I was here I just wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. Starting an argument about different kinds of magic would certainly not be over quickly!

Still, this was somehow... different. I don't know if Numair had realised that I was in a foul mood after the last time I'd called the creature, but afterwards he had switched back to talking to me in the friendly, slightly sardonic way he'd adopted when we travelled to Corus together. I'd thought that he had started acting differently because Gregory was there; now I was starting to realise that he would simply become too lost in theories and thoughts to engage with anyone else. A normal person, I thought, would at least be trying to encourage or reassure their daughter about the dangerous piece of magic they were casting. But then, I realised, a normal person wouldn't be trying to cast dangerous magic in the first place.

Perhaps I shouldn't feel too bitter about that.

"Well," he said, "It's ready. You'll have to tell me when it's here."

I blinked, and looked at the circle. It was time to call the creature. I think if he'd asked me to dance a pavanne I'd have felt less exposed! Still, I shut my eyes and started counting, trying not to think about anything except that voice in my head. Numair had taught me to count when I meditated- one, two... but I couldn't do that. The numbers made my mind wander; I can't relax thinking about numbers. If there is a three, there must be a three of something, and then I can't help but think of what it might be!

Here's how I count. I count in words.

Once... up-on... a... time...

A...long...time... ago...

They're comforting and simple, words that I knew before I even knew how to count. You're never told those words in anger. People will never demand those words from you, like they might demand numbers of money or time from you. And then, to speak... to call out ...well, any story has words in it. I told the demon my counting story, my voice growing stronger with every breath.

Once upon a time...

Once there was a shadow...

Once there was a girl...

And the girl called out...

-Shadow!- I felt the word pouring from my mind like water, streaming away from me towards the shadow. Last time, that was enough to call it, but I had to be sure. I tried again, making my voice a scream in my mind, -Shadow!-

And then... then it screamed back at me. My eyes flew open; I flinched back from it defensively, even though it was just a sound in my mind. It screamed back, wordless and angry, closer and more furious than it had been before. I blinked to clear my vision, and realised I had my hands clasped over my eyes protectively.

"It's angry," I said, my voice cracking. I swallowed and tried again, "It... it's really angry."

"Because you called it?" Numair asked. I thought rapidly, knowing that the seemingly casual question might be vital. Now that I thought about it... I shook my head.

"No. No, it's something else. It's coming, but it's different. It's..."

"It's angry." He finished for me, his steady voice breaking through my rambling fear. I shot a look at him, wondering how he could be so calm... and noticed the tightness in his jaw. He was nervous too, then. "I can shield you from it, Sarralyn, but I need you to be my eyes."

I nodded, edging as close to the circle as I could. The demon could burst through the windows or walls or even walk through the door at any moment. I was nervous of scuffing the chalk marks, but at least the circle was far away from all the walls!

I held my breath, expecting it to leap at me. After a few minutes I realised I was barely blinking when my eyes started stinging. Still, the shadow didn't appear. The suspense made me shake, even more than I had been before. Perhaps it was scheming. I could still hear its anger, nestling in the back of my mind.

The light moved around the room with the afternoon. I didn't call the shadow again, but waited for it. I knew it was coming, it was just a question of how. The shadows got longer; the legs of the chairs painted dark bars across the wooden floor. I blinked blearily at them. We hadn't been here that long; surely the shadows shouldn't be that dark? The thought was barely formed in my mind before it sharpened; one of the shadows lengthened and darkened, looming over the floorboards, growing claws...

"There!" I shouted, my voice a strangled shriek. Numair looked automatically, and then shrugged humourlessly at the futile action. The creature knew it had been seen; it had been called, and so it had followed... biding its time. Now that it was here, I couldn't make my scrambled thoughts decide what to do. It was only when the creature coiled like a snake, ready to spring, that I could think again. I waited until the creature had started leaping before I shouted, "Duck!"

Father did, hissing between his teeth when the demon's claws scraped across his scalp. He shook his head as if he was shaking away a wasp, and held his hands out with palms upwards. I wondered what he was doing until the creature leapt at him again, roaring- and smashed against a glasslike wall of glittering magic.

"It works!" I said, wondering at the surprise in my own voice. I guess I hadn't thought anything could stop the shadow. It rounded on me, furious at being denied its prey, and when it charged it hit another wall. I saw black sparks shattering around the impact, as if it truly was glass that encased me- but as soon as the creature drew away, they vanished. It circled me, growling, pacing, thinking. The utter lack of feeling in its black eyes made me shiver. Then it seemed to come to a decision, and moved... away.

"Wait," I said, and then repeated it with my mind as well as my voice. "Wait, don't go!"

The creature looked over its shoulder. Why should I listen to you? said every part of its petulant stride. I bit my lip and came to a decision. In three rapid steps, I stood in the middle of the circle.

"Take the shield off me." I said quietly. I saw Numair's sudden movement, and rolled my eyes. The creature was getting away! "Get rid of it! We won't trap it if you don't!"

I honestly thought he might still argue with me, but he only hesitated for a few seconds before he nodded. I couldn't see the barrier disappearing around me, but the creature could. It made a sound horribly close to a snigger, and turned around. With a sinking feeling, I realised that it was trying to trick me as much as I was trying to trick it. Now, when it crawled closer, it licked its lips in anticipation of whatever attack it was planning.

I held my ground, rocking nervously from one foot to the other as I watched it. I prayed that Numair had worked out what was going on; we would only have a few seconds to act in when the creature struck. I waited, realised I was wringing my hands anxiously, and forced them to my sides. I clenched them into fists and glared at the creature. It stared back, still grinning, still circling, still moving as slowly as pouring treacle. As I watched it started to grow, towering to the ceiling with claws longer than my arm, still grinning. I stared up at it. It flexed its claws lazily. I tried not to think about how sharp they might be. They were made of shadow, and that was all. Shadows can't hurt, any more than the monsters under your bed.

"Come on, you ugly puddle of ink," I muttered, "attack me!"

I put some force into the last word, barely knowing if I'd spoken out loud or in my mind. The creature heard me; it made a decision. It snapped its jaws together, the ringing noise hurting my ears, and then rushed at me. I shrieked at its speed and leapt backwards, shoving myself out of the circle at exactly the same moment that it leapt in. One of those claws raked at me, cutting deeply into my shoulder, and I scooted backwards in terror. My heart pounding, I felt the sudden hardness of the stone wall behind my back, and shut my eyes, waiting for death.

The creature screamed piercingly- not in my mind this time, but out loud. I clapped my hands over my ears, eyes flying open. It filled the circle, massive arms bound by the cylinder of magic, struggling. It shrank and hurled itself bodily against the magical wall, shocking sparks with every hit, still screaming.

Trapped.

I realised I was breathing heavily and bit my lip to stop from crying in relief. Trapped! At the exact moment that I'd escaped the circle, Numair had activated it. When I looked at him he was staring at the circle, at the creature. Now that it was trapped inside a wall of magic, my father could see the thing that had cursed his family. He watched with wide eyes, not flinching when it snarled at him and swiped at the barrier. When he finally tore his eyes away, he was grinning. He walked over to me and picked me up from the floor, spinning me around in a hug.

"You did it!" He said, still grinning irresistibly. "You incredible, brave, idiotic, wonderful girl!"

"I think that's enough adjectives for today," I said shakily, and then started laughing, and crying, until I couldn't even hear the demon's furious shrieks any more.

888

Gregory was almost green when I described the day to him. I was baffled as to why he was jealous of it, and told him that I couldn't remember being anything but terrified when I was actually there. Who would want to be attacked by a shadow demon?

"Ah," he said, "But it's an adventure. You can tell your children about it. While I, on the other hand, will only tell my offspring about the day that I learned how to measure triangles."

"Hm." I couldn't think of an answer for that. It seemed stupid. I scratched the healing cut on my shoulder absently while I tried to think of a way to tell him that adventures were all very well in stories, but...

"Why didn't you get that healed?" He asked instead, interrupting my train of thought. I blinked, taking my hand away from the cut with a guilty expression. If father caught me scratching he'd be cross; he seemed to take the fact that I'd been hurt using myself as bait as a personal affront to his parenting skills. The fact that it would have to heal naturally made him even tetchier about the whole thing.

"Magic doesn't work on me. I told you that before. It's part of the curse."

"Yes, I remembered... I just wondered if it was for another reason. Like, a rare blood condition or something." Greg tried to make his voice sound casual, but I caught the odd note in it and looked at him sharply.

"Why?"

He pushed a crumb along the table with his fingertip, trying to shrug and look away at the same time. "No reason. Someone I know asked me... well, you know, because your father doesn't talk to many people, and he talks to you a lot, and you talk to me, and people think that I might know things. So I thought I'd ask."

"Ask?" I was totally lost! I ran my hand through my hair in frustration, trying to make sense of what he'd said. "Do you mean, like... magical stuff?"

"No, justice-y stuff. People are curious."

I laughed. "Well, I don't know anything about that. He doesn't tell me."

That was only partly true. I think he might have told me, if I'd asked... but I never did. The thought of Stefan and Jak rotting in the cells under the castle made me shudder. Sometimes I wondered about them. They were there, locked up, shivering in the cold from the late autumn rains, because of me. I wondered if they thought it was fair. They probably thought they were doing the right thing by trying to kill me. Or maybe they spent their time hating me still, plotting their revenge and thinking of ways to escape. Numair spoke to them a lot, returning home in the evenings looking tired or angry or (worst of all) simply unhappy. He'd stopped doing that now; he spent most of his time studying the demon instead. But I might have asked him what they were saying, and I didn't. As bad as my imaginings were, I couldn't help suspecting that whatever they were saying was probably worse.

Still, I didn't know how healings fit into that, and I told Greg so. He told me one of his friends was a soldier, who'd been sent on a retrieval mission a week ago.

"He came back in a total mess. They'd been sent to retrieve this woman for your father to question, and she tried to escape. She was badly hurt-not by them," he added quickly, "they were attacked by some immortals, and she tried to fight them off. She actually saved my friend's life. So when they brought her here, he was looking out for her- more than he would for a normal prisoner, you know? So instead of locking her up right away, they took her to the healers... who couldn't heal her. She's getting sicker, and they can't do anything. He's getting frantic now, asking around... he told me about it this morning, and I said I'd ask you. I just wondered if there was some other reason why that would happen. I'm sure there aren't that many people who've been cursed, after all." He tried to make a joke of it, which fell flat when he saw how white my face had gotten.

"Why were they catching her? What had she done?" I asked through numb lips. Greg shrugged.

"Lots of people are brought in. People do bad things." He tried to wave the question away, but when he tried to meet my glaring eyes he stuttered and told me the truth, "She was working with your Sefan. He told the guards to bring her here. I heard them."

"And you didn't tell me?" I half shrieked, hardly noticing the kitchen staff looking up from their work. "Dear Minoss, how sick is she? Where is she?"


	20. Daine

When I opened my eyes and saw the stone wall, I knew where I was. There is only one castle built with that bone-white stone, and I recognised it even in my fevered delirium. When I closed my eyes again I didn't want them to reopen. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyelids, burning me.

I failed. I as good as killed her with my own hands. If only I had been swifter, or stronger, or more heartless. If only I had stayed hidden.

The boy buzzed around me like a wasp, calling healers and speaking to me as if his voice would bring me out of my silence. I turned my face to the wall and closed my eyes. I refused the food they brought me, even when they tried to force it past my lips. My arm grew hot, then cold, as it blistered with infection. The boy whispered kind words to me, but I hated him. If I had found the will to speak to him, I would only say... are you worth my daughter's life? Can you tell stories, or make me laugh when I'm cold and tired from working in the fields? Do you twist the ends of your hair around your fingertips to make it curl like your mama's? Do you sing when the birds call out to you?

Sarralyn... I wept for her, and dreamed of her, and called her name in my delirium as if the gods would give her back to me. Goddess, I tried so hard. Why did you take her away from me? And then I remembered that I drove her away first, towards a kidnapper and her father and her death. And it must have been worse for him, so much worse, to see what he was losing before it was torn away from him again, this time forever.

Perhaps the gods have a sick sense of humour, for they didn't let me die. When I was too weak to push them away, the healers poured water and broth between my lips. They bound my arm with honey and linen, and forced me to sit upright. Still, I refused to speak. They moved me into a cell, and the boy left me a blanket. I curled up under it and slept on the stone floor, begging the dark god to steal me away from the darkness of sleep into his eternal night.

Every night, I dreamed of Sarralyn. Some nights she was a baby, still nursing at my breast, crying on the cold nights when we slept under the stars. Some nights she was older- a girl, or a toddler, playing by the fireplaces of inns with the village children and gurgling happily at the dancing firelight. Sometimes she was the young woman she'd been the last time I'd seen her, growing more confident and more beautiful each day. I never dreamed of her death. The gods saved those visions for the daytime, when I couldn't hide from them in my sleep.

I dreamed of her so often, it was as if she was with me, beside me in the cell, whispering stories and secrets with that odd blend of whimsy and sharp intelligence she'd always had. I imagined her when I slept, and when I woke, until all of my tears were shed. And then, one day, I woke up imagining her brushing my filthy curls out of my eyes.

I didn't want to wake up. If I did, then she'd vanish like the rest of the dreams. I felt something warm splashing on my hand- a drop of water. A tear? I opened my eyes, blinking up at the vision.

"Mama," it said, its soft voice strangled with tears. "Wake up, mama. I'm here."

You can't be, I thought, so unused to speaking that it didn't occur to me to say the words out loud. Perhaps she read it in my eyes, because she smiled crookedly and kissed my cheek. She smelled of the kitchens- fresh baked bread and sour hog fat, sugar and onions.

"I'm here, mama, I promise. We... we trapped the thing. It can't hurt us. It didn't hurt me." Her eyes filled up with more tears. "Oh mama, I didn't know you were here! I'm so sorry! What did they do to you?"

I pushed myself up on one arm, shaking more from shock than from weakness. My daughter caught me; she helped me stand and sit on the wooden bench that was bolted to the wall of the cell, and I realised that she was taller than me now. My dreams wouldn't have imagined that.

"You've grown," I said, my voice a harsh whisper, and then I started crying. I couldn't help it. Sarralyn held me close, letting me cry, wiping her own eyes with her free hand. It took me long minutes to realise that there was another person in the room- a stocky boy who hung back awkwardly, chatting to the guard who waited by the open door. The guard kept glancing at me suspiciously as if I would try to run away again. When I had stopped sniffling Sarralyn started talking to me, introducing the boy in an even voice as if this was a completely normal way to meet people. He bowed deeply.

"Greg's the one who told me you were here." Sarralyn still sounded guilty, "He didn't realise who you were, mama, I'm sorry."

I laughed, the sound hurting my throat. My daughter stared around the cell with disgust, wrinkling her nose at the damp walls and dirty straw covering the floor. I had barely noticed it before, but now, through her eyes, I realised how horrible the place was. As if to agree with me, the boy turned to the guard and said in the voice of a young lordling, "Mistress Salmalin can't stay here. Please be so good as to fetch her husband. I'm sure the king's justice will have the authority to pardon her of whatever crimes she's been falsely accused of."

The guard's eyes widened at my name, and he actually leaned through the doorway to stare at me more closely. The lordling made a shooing gesture, and the guard reddened and ran off.

Later, Sarralyn asked me what I was thinking at that moment. To be honest, I can barely remember. I was still half expecting to wake up; my brain was still foggy with fever and hunger and too much sleep. I can remember that it seemed ridiculous to me that, after so long, our family would be reunited with the words fetch her husband. And then, in a flurry of frantic footsteps, Numair ran through the cell door, and all my thoughts flew away like birds.

 

Sarralyn

I don't know what I expected. It wasn't really a scene I'd imagined, or even thought about. If I told it as a story, there would be soft light streaming through a window and nightingales singing sweetly outside. If there was a minstrel in the room I might ask for a soft chord, and I'd use words to make the ladies in the room sigh behind their hands. I wouldn't have described a dark cell in a damp part of the castle, filled with vermin and the echoes of lewd cries from other prisoners. I would have been laughed at.

Mama made a strange sound, halfway between a cry and a sob, but didn't move. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bench, so tightly that the knuckles turned bone-white. She stared at da as if she was seeing a ghost, her eyes wide and unblinking. I thought that he might say something- I don't know, her name, a greeting, an endearment- but he was just as silent as she was. They both stayed frozen for so long that I realised I was holding my breath, and had to remind myself to breathe.

Then, abruptly and without a word, da took three steps across the room and pulled mama into his arms. The action was almost violent, so quickly did it happen, and when she wrapped her arms around him in reply I could see her hands shaking. She was holding him so tightly her skin went white, clinging as if he would vanish away if she let go.

A hand tugged at my sleeve, making me look away, and Gregory was there. "C'mon," he mouthed, "Let's go."

I followed him without a word. They wouldn't notice me leave. When I thought back, it was the only cold emotion I could recall: loneliness. They had each other back now.

 

Numair

No-one challenged me when I carried Daine out of the cell, not even her guards. They wouldn't dare. I think if one of them had tried to stop me, I might have locked him in her cell instead. I would have demanded to know why she was so thin, so ill, so badly treated. Daine sensed my anger and held me tighter, her left arm shaking from the pain of it.

It was a strange emotion, such love and tenderness mixed with such anger. When I saw her a thousand words collided in my mind: who did this to you? They tangled together and choked me, and I couldn't speak at all. I could only hold her close, remembering her heartbeat as it fluttered in rhythm with my own, remembering how naturally she rested her head against my chest when I carried her, and how softly she breathed.

I took her home, and sat down with her beside the fire. I couldn't put her down; I simply couldn't make myself let go, and when I looked her fingers were white with gripping my shirt. We didn't say a word to each other for hours. We just sat by the fire, barely moving, listening to each other's heartbeats and clinging on to each other like frightened children.

Daine's grip loosened first, her breathing deepening as she fell asleep. We still hadn't said a single word. We didn't need to.

I studied her face as she slept, wondering if I could somehow read her life from it like it was the page of a book. Perhaps that might work in stories, but in truth I could tell very little. Perhaps if I had more imagination I might have thought: ah, this line at the edge of her eye shows how she still smiles. The lightness in her hair must be from the sunlight. The new thinness in her cheeks must be from poor winters and slow harvests. But all I could truly think was, in some surprise: she looks the same. She hasn't changed. She's older, but she's the same as she ever was.

Daine sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer. Something about the action made me want to laugh suddenly, irresistibly. It's strange what you forget about people, and what you remember. Daine had always been so vivid when she was awake that I'd almost forgotten how she slept as easily as a child. I hated to let her go, but she was clearly exhausted. I carried her to bed, and the motion made her gasp and wake up, eyes frantic for a moment until they settled on me. She smiled, reassured, and reached up to trace the line of my cheek.

"If this is a dream, dear dark gods," she whispered, almost to herself, "Please don't let me wake up."

I smiled back, my voice just as quiet. "I've had this dream, too. But you're never hurt when I imagine you."

Her smile widened, and then her expression became more serious as she studied my face. Her fingertips brushed softly under one of my eyes, and a note of worry crept into her voice. "No, you're never this tired when I imagine you. What happened?"

She meant what had worn me out, but I ignored the question. It wasn't important. I was saved from having to think up a lie when there was a knock at the door. Daine jumped, and then laughed at herself, her voice harsh.

"It's strange how familiar that sound is," she said, the words slurred with weariness. I laid her down gently and brushed her hair back from her face, still wondering at the marvel of her being there. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed at the action. She was asleep again before I'd even left the room.

When I answered the door, it was a page boy who yawned at the late night and handed me a message. It was from Lolla- just a few brief lines, saying that Sarralyn had decided to visit her for a few nights, to give her poor mother some peace and quiet to get better in. I smiled at the woman's casual generosity even as I felt a pang of guilt- I'd almost forgotten about Sa.

I sent the page for some food, hot water and healing supplies. He scowled at the list, probably thinking longingly of his own room, but left to fetch them. I woke Daine up to make her eat the food, and a second time to tend to her poor, savaged arm. Every time she woke up she stared around desperately until she focused on me, and relief danced across her eyes when she smiled. She couldn't eat more than a few mouthfuls of food before she pushed the plate away, but living colour started to bloom under her skin.

"Didn't they feed you?" I couldn't help asking, seeing how her sickness was in part starvation. She looked away, almost embarrassed, and told me that they treated her well enough, she just couldn't make herself eat. I decided not to ask any other questions. I'd spent so long searching for answers, and now I found that they just weren't important any more. More than anything else, I wanted her to heal. She looked so tired, but her eyes burned with fever and joy. Every time they slid shut in sleep she forced them open again, and each time she stared at me as if she still didn't believe I wasn't some dream.

"Sleep," I told her gently, stroking her hair back from her forehead and feeling the feverish heat that still burned her. "Sleep, sweetling. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Sleep."

The next few days passed in a strange, timeless blur. Daine slept through most of them, drifting in and out of delirium until her fever broke, and then sleeping more soundly in the cool, quiet glades of dreamless sleep. I didn't leave her alone; the only time I left our rooms was to check the spell trapping the demon, ignoring its snarls and whimpers and reinforcing the cage each morning.

When she was awake we talked- not about important things, but the kind of quiet words most people keep hidden away. As if by an unspoken pact, neither of us mentioned the curse or the priest. Apart from asking after Sarralyn, Daine ignored the outside world altogether. She admitted that she was so unused to being able to speak about important things that she'd lost the trick of it.

On the fifth day, when (with a grin of triumph) she'd managed to rise, dress and walk unaided to the fire, Daine seemed to come to a decision.

 

  
Daine

"Do you want to know what happened?" I asked, and then laughed softly at the question, "Yes, of course you do. I meant... would you like me tell you now?"

"Are you strong enough?" He asked, sitting down and handing me a cup of milk. I shot him a look, half amused. Apart from my arm, I felt almost like myself again. If I felt lightheaded it was more to do with being home, being with him, feeling my heart race every time our eyes met, than it was to do with weakness.

"Am I strong enough? I can talk, thank you! Actually yes... I should thank you for that as well. For so many things, but talking is a good start. I wasn't allowed to. There are two things that I've wanted to talk about for so long... one is my real name, and the other one is... is what happened. At first, I wanted you to know so dearly that it hurt, and then I just wanted anyone to know. I wanted to shout from the rooftops and warn people not to let it happen to them whenever I saw that priest wandering into a new town, but I never could."

"Well, let's not go climbing on the roof," he said easily, his eyes amused, and then bright as he leaned forward to ask a question. "Is that what you were doing, then: following the priest?"

"After a while, yes. I didn't know he was a priest though, not at first..." I started, and told my story from the beginning. Or, I should say I tried. But even though I'd been reliving those few days every night for years, the words did not come as easily to my lips as I thought they would. I stood up and moved to sit next to my husband, smiling when he drew me closer. With the warm weight of his arm around my shoulders, the story was easier to tell. A few times he paled or reddened at some detail- the casual way Sefan had cast the spell, the way he'd tricked his way into the temple and broken into our home- but he let me speak without interrupting until I stumbled over my words.

"I don't know how to... explain." I said, realising my voice was shaking. "I suppose you can think of a hundred, a thousand things you would have done in my place. But I... I couldn't. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, so I couldn't ask for help, and I was alone, and I couldn't think on my own, not about anything."

"But you did," he sounded almost surprised, as if I was speaking nonsense. "You thought about Sarralyn, and about all the rules, and even about tracking down the priest. Why do you feel guilty about that?"

I looked down at my hands. It was odd to be challenged about things I'd done so long ago, but he was right, I still felt guilty. "I should have solved it. I should have found some way to tell you. I should have... oh!" All my tears came flooding out in one go, nearly burning my cheeks. "It must have been awful for you, not knowing, and I should have found some way to just... make you stop, or make you hate me, or make you think I was dead, or anything- anything – Just not left you with nothing and no idea of why we were there one day and gone the next, and nothing but a few rumours to follow..."

"...and thinking you were dead would have hurt less, would it?" He finished sarcastically. I wiped my eyes and looked away, refusing to answer. He looked at the ceiling, thinking, his voice slightly detached. "I see. So what stopped you from throwing a simulacrum off a bridge, then?"

"Sarralyn." The answer was simple, but until I said it out loud I didn't realise that there even was an answer. "You'd still have looked for her, but she doesn't... didn't... know who you were. She doesn't even know who I am, not really."

The thought made me feel heavy, as if sadness had weight. Even if I hadn't thought about faking my own death in my exile, I had definitely thought about Sarralyn. I had told her who I was in stories, and then lied to her in real life to keep her safe. That lie wouldn't have gone away, even if I had made it look like Veralidaine Sarrasri was dead. "I couldn't do it. I tried, but all I could think was... if you thought I was dead, then I might as well be. Sometimes the thought that you were looking for me was the only thing that kept me going."

He laughed shortly- not mocking me, but unconsciously, as if he had to make some sound in the silence. "Strange, isn't it? It was almost the same for me. I didn't know anything, but I felt that at least if I was following the rumours, I was doing something. You knew that I was following you?"

"I watched you." I admitted, thinking of all the times I'd wondered which speck on the horizon might be him. A mile isn't so far, after all. Sometimes I could tell who he was just because of the spell. It was odd to think that the thing keeping us apart was the thing linking us together. I told Numair as much, and he didn't answer. I don't think he could see the spell as anything other than horrifying. I suppose he'd only known about it for a few weeks; he wouldn't have grown used to it. I was so accustomed to it that I almost thought of it as part of my skin.

He couldn't see the spell; he'd told me as much when I asked after Sarralyn, and he'd described how they'd trapped the shadow. The story made me shiver: they had cast the spell the day before the soldiers dragged me back to Corus. If I hadn't delayed my captors it might have been too late. Even behind a cage of the Gift the shadow was still obstinately invisible. This was why I'd waited until I was stronger before I started talking about the spell. I took Numair's hand in mine, unable to resist smiling at the familiar way he curled his fingers around mine, the way that my smaller hand vanished into his.

"Look with me," I said.

We meditated together, and through my eyes I showed him the dark barbed magic that darted through both our hearts. Now that we were together it was writhing, ugly in its futile struggle to speak to the shadow. The sight of it made me feel sick, but I forced myself to keep looking, knowing that Numair would want to study it and that he would only be able to see it while I looked. To my surprise, he dragged his hand out of my grasp, and when I opened my eyes he was pale.

"It was right here the whole time," he whispered shakily, half to himself. "I was looking for it for so long, but it was right under my nose."

"Are you feeling guilty now?" I asked, exasperated. He looked away, and I shrugged. "Well, now you know where it is: look at it yourself." He gave me an odd look, but meditated again and focused, looking for the spell from his own core.

When he opened his eyes again he said, surprised, "I can't."

"No," I smiled and took his hand again. "No-one can. If they could, I wouldn't have even made it out of the castle before someone noticed that something odd was going on. So don't feel guilty, please."

He blinked, and then smiled crookedly at me. "As long as the feeling's reciprocated, I won't."

Ree-see-pree-what? I shrugged and went for the best answer I could think of to that nonsense: "Whatever that means, I'm fine with it."

He touched the end of my nose with his forefinger. "It means you can't feel guilty either."

The gesture made me smile. This conversation was too serious for me, though. I decided to be flippant. "I don't feel guilty. I'm too happy to feel guilty. I can't feel anything else at all."

"No?" The worried line disappeared from Numair's face when he raised an eyebrow. He stroked my cheek, his fingers lingering and making me shiver deliciously. He smiled slowly, his voice mischievous. "I think you're lying, magelet."

"This counts as happy," I said, trying to make my voice matter-of-fact when I could barely breathe. I waited until he took a breath to answer- he never could resist having the last word!- and then leaned forward to kiss him. Surprise made him move slowly; he hesitated, and then tangled his hands in my hair and kissed me back. Before I drowned in the rushing fire of it I dragged myself away, and this time my voice was the mischievous one.

"Are you sure you want to argue with me?" I asked. He blinked and then laughed.

"I would've let you win," he said, pulling me back towards him irresistibly. If my kiss had been fleeting and impulsive, his was slow and deliberate. He held my face between his hands as gently as if I were made of glass, and kissed me so softly at first that it made my skin tingle. When I wrapped my arms around his back the kiss deepened, and the tingle turned into burning sparks wherever he touched me. I could feel his heart racing under his skin when I ran my hands down the back of his neck, and when he did the same to me I nearly moaned at the feel of it.

This time it was him who pulled away, and when I tried to pull him back he caught my hands. I realised both of us were breathing raggedly when he spoke, that worried line appearing between his eyes again.

"Daine, we don't have to..."

I breathed out in a rush, unable to stop myself sounding irritated. "I'm not made of eggshells, you know! I'm fine!" He still looked worried; I leaned forward and kissed the line away, letting my lips linger on his skin. When I spoke again my voice was softer. "Honestly, I'm perfectly well, and happy, and not ree-see-procating anything. Please don't be so... so caring!"

He brushed a lock of hair away from my eyes. I hadn't even noticed it escaping from my hair-tie. He looked like he had a hundred thoughts in his head, but when he looked at me there was laughter in the dark depths of his eyes. "Reciprocating, sweetling."

"Whatever." I smiled at the way he rolled his eyes. I'd missed that. I started unpicking the knot that fastened his shirt, my eyes daring him to keep arguing. "If this turns into a spelling lesson I may have to hit you with a cushion. I can think of far more interesting things we could be doing."

He laughed, and then picked me up so quickly I squeaked in surprise. For all my talk about being strong I didn't mind being carried, not when his arms tightened around me so deliciously, not when he kissed me so passionately that my legs felt weak. Not when, for the first time in years, the man who I adored whispered my true name into my ear and told me he loved me.


	21. Sarralyn

I told you before that I don't like counting. That's not strictly true; I like counting when there are interesting things to add up. I like the way it distracts me from my own thoughts. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, they wander and take me with them. Lolla frowns and tells me to stop daydreaming, but I can't help it. I might simply be staring out of a window, and suddenly- whoosh! – I start imagining that they're talking about me. Or worse, that they're not. Perhaps now they're together again they can forget about me. Perhaps now that they can talk to each other, they'll realise that I was the one keeping them apart, not the spell...

...there, I did it again. I cannot think, so I must count. I have nothing else to do. I don't even have to practice meditating, any more.

Lolla's rooms are nothing like I imagined. She usually lives in the 'Dove, but she keeps her smart dresses and pretty glass jewels here. Here is what I counted:

Three rooms, simple but elegant. One is the main room, and then two bedrooms lead off from it. I sleep in the smaller room, surrounded by wooden stands full of Lolla's dresses. There are at least twenty of them, ranging from silk to fur-trimmed velvet. I tried one on; it was too tight in the waist, but gaped open at the top. Lolla laughed at me (too many times to count) and asked if I would like to borrow one of her corsets to dress up in. I shuddered at the idea of being squeezed and said no.

Eight men, in the six days I've been here. When they knock at the door I let them in and excuse myself for a few hours. Each one was greeted by Lolla in a different one of the dresses. The one with the bald head had the velvet, and the one with nervous eyes was greeted with a sheer yellow satin. Lolla asked me to leave before the one with long white hair arrived; I dread to think what she greeted him wearing.

Two books. I expected there to be more, but she says they're only here to make the place look more sophisticated. One is full of dress patterns, and the other is a dry book about lineages. I read them from cover to cover on the first night.

Five wooden boxes of fake jewellery, and one smaller box of real jewellery. Some men, apparently, can tell the difference. Like your father, for instance. She told me flippantly.

"I thought he only ever bought beer from you," I replied, my voice sullen. She gave me an odd look and put the garnet ring she'd been holding up to the light away in a silk bag.

"Is that what's been bothering you, grumpy girl?" She made her voice casual, but I could hear something odd behind it. It might have been a caring tone, but it could have easily been laughter. I didn't answer, and she closed the box with a snap. What she said next made me blush fiercely, because she said it so casually!

"Look, Sarralyn, I don't know how much you know about men and women, but you've probably worked out by now that if your father had been interested in me, he wouldn't have had to pay a single copper." She laughed, fingers fanning out as if she could make the memories drift away on the breeze, "You know, when I first met him I tried all the tricks I knew to get him to notice me. It was a few years after your mama vanished, but he still stomped around the city as if the paving stones deserved to be punished. No-one could talk to him without getting snapped at. I met him because of our jobs, and I told myself that he was a challenge." She grinned. "I like challenges. So, I dressed in my best dresses and spoke in a higher pitched voice. I laughed like a bird and even stopped smoking for a while, although that put me in as much of a bad mood as the way he looked right through me, as if I wasn't there. Finally I gave up. I stormed into the palace one day in my town clothes, with my hair all in a mess and not a breath of perfume on my body. I met him in the hall, and for the first time he actually spoke to me- as a person, not just as someone to get information from."

"What did he say?" I asked, fascinated despite myself. Lolla smiled and rooted in her bag for her pipe. The talk of stopping smoking seemed to have gotten to her. She lit the pipe slowly and blew a circle of smoke at the ceiling.

"He said, 'You must be Lolla. It's nice to meet you.'" She raised an eyebrow at my giggle and then looked back at the ceiling ruefully. "Well, you may laugh, but at the time I was so angry that I walked right out again! I didn't even get the messages I'd come to the palace for. The next time I saw him I yelled at him, told him he was blind and an idiot and rude and all the other things people say when they're not thinking straight. He listened in that quiet way he has, and then asked why on earth he should make friends with some make-believe character I'd made up when he'd never had the chance to meet me."

"That's..." I started, and then tried to work out what it was. "That's... sweet." I finished lamely. Lolla shrugged and blew on the embers of her pipe to make them glow.

"He knows a fair few things about pretending, your father. You've got that from him. But he was right. I wasn't some noble lady, any more than he was some mysterious, pitiable figure for me to latch on to. As soon as we had that notion out of the way, we became friends. And in the years since, as you said, he's only ever bought beer from me, and I've never tried to sell him anything else. Happy?"

"Do you think he'll still be friends with you now?" I blurted out, almost shocked at my own question. The woman's eyes narrowed and she deadened the ash with a dampened fingertip. When she answered me, her words were sharp.

"I don't know your mother, but you obviously think she's going to be so jealous that she won't even want you around. I probably don't have a chance."

I reddened at the gibe and looked at the jewellery box, wishing I hadn't said anything. "They forgot about me. As soon as they were back together, they just left me."

"I sent your father a note telling him not to worry." Lolla's eyes were guarded as she watched my reaction. "Honey, your mama was really sick. You told me that. And... and there's other kinds of healing than just blood and bone. Emotions, and that. Don't be angry at them for wanting to get away from the real world for a while."

"I'm not the real world." I retorted, knowing I was being petty but unable to help it. Lolla rolled her eyes- a gesture that she'd started making automatically when I acted childishly- and stood up to put the jewellery box away. Kitten made a disappointed sound- she'd been examining the carved knots on the box, and looked at me as if it was my fault Lolla wasn't playing any more. It had surprised me when the little dragon had decided not to see mama straight away. I had expected her to claw at the door like a dog, but instead she waited patiently and just whistled to herself more when she thought no one could hear her. After a few days I realised that the immortal was as happy for mama as she was for herself.

So why couldn't I be happy for my parents, too? What was really making me so miserable? I could tell you it was the idea of being abandoned, or taking second place in both my parents' lives. I could tell you I was nervous about meeting my parents as themselves, which was true- in my mind, they would be different people. But really, there was a simple answer to the question.

It was the shadow.

Sure, it was trapped. It beat against the walls of father's magic constantly, keening and screaming until one of the other mages in the palace had gotten annoyed and cast a warding spell on the walls to block the sound. But that didn't stop it from talking to me. Now that I knew its mind, and now that it knew I could listen, it spoke to me constantly. But not words- no, never words.

Instead of stories or entreaties or threats it spoke to me in pure emotions. Sometimes they would be pathetic, feelings of sadness or hopelessness. Sometimes they were more specific; I woke up a few times each night panting in terror as waves of claustrophobia washed over me. Sometimes they were threats, and those were the worst, because instead of just the words I could feel the hatred behind them. Those would wake me up screaming, or crying. Of course, I didn't tell Lolla any of that. I'd rather she thought that I was being a selfish child than that I was still cursed.

But it was difficult. I could hardly tell if my emotions were really mine any more. When I thought about my parents I felt happy for them at the same time that I hated them. When I thought about the years the curse kept them apart, I felt my sorrow and the creature's dark glee simultaneously. I started to rely on my thoughts rather than my feelings, but that was a mistake; my thoughts were far too confused to compensate for the headache I was getting.

The next morning, early, Kitten and I went to the room where the shadow was trapped. I had a vague idea of trying to talk back to it- or at least, yelling at the damned thing to shut up and leave me alone. I also had heard from Greg that father had been renewing the spell each morning, so somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if I'd be able to talk to him more easily about the spell without mama there. When the door opened, though, the thought fled from my mind. The demon's hatred for my father flared up in my mind, but my happiness at seeing him again nearly eclipsed the emotion. I didn't realise that I was homesick until that moment, you see. I scrambled up from the floor and ran to hug him.

He smiled a greeting a ruffled my hair affectionately. "You're up early, sweetheart."

"I want to come home," I said, my words coming out in a rush. I half expected him to refuse, to tell me he wanted more time with mama, but he looked delighted.

"Excellent! Let me just cast this spell, and then we'll go back via the kitchens. I smelled bacon on the way here."

Bacon? Why am I telling you about bacon? See, this is what I saying, about being confused. I'm telling you all the silly things that happened, instead of the things you probably want to hear about. Perhaps I should describe the way father strengthened the spell, making waves of black fire roll up the walls of it as silkily as one of Lolla's satin skirts. Or perhaps I should tell you about the way that Kitten ran into the room ahead of us when we got home, and disappeared into the room where mama was sleeping with a barely restrained chirp of joy.

"I hope she doesn't wake her up," Numair said, his voice quiet as he frowned slightly. Seeing my worried expression, he smiled and told me, "Don't worry too much, Daine is... your mother is much better. She just didn't eat for so long that she wore herself out, the little idiot." He muttered the last part under his breath, and then looked sidelong at me. "And I'd be happy if you didn't repeat that last part in her hearing, thank you kindly."

I smiled my agreement, happy in my role as a co-conspirator. Kitten didn't wake mama up, but when we checked she had simply curled up next to her in contented bliss. Father and I spent an hour drinking apple juice and talking in quiet voices, until we heard the sleepy exclamation from Kitten when mama woke up and hugged the little dragon in delight. When mama came and sat with us, she had to be careful not to trip; when she rushed over to hug me Kitten was still dancing around her feet. Do you want to hear about that? Kitten chattered to mama in a series of whistles and croaks, so fast that I couldn't follow it, but mama spoke back to her as if she understood every word. Eventually, father sternly told the dragon to hush for a while and let mama eat, and so (after a very rude sounding croak) Kitten jumped into mama's lap and curled up peacefully, whistling her thanks every time mother handed her a piece of bacon.

At some point one of us looked up and thought about the scene we were making. All four of us- our whole family- sitting and eating breakfast together. A normal scene for most rooms in the palace. Completely bizarre for us! And I don't know who started laughing first, but soon we were all smiling at each other in pure delight.

And at the back of my mind, I could hear the demon thinking how hateful the whole thing was.

888

So... I suppose... you're thinking that this is the happy ever after bit of the story. Well, you'd be wrong. I don't think real life actually has happy endings. I mean, how do you know when you've got your happy ending? As soon as you start worrying about that, you're no more blissfully happy than you were before... and how does it end? With the right person? In the right place? The usurped prince returns to his kingdom, I suppose, and the throne is overturned and righted in the same breath, until the people watching it grow quite dizzy. Nothing ends, everything just spins around.

Take my family, for example. Oh, I've given you a few hints there... my whirling mind settled on the demon to tell my story, and to tell you what was wrong with it. And yes, the demon was still there: hating us. I'll tell you what happened to the demon later. It will take its own time. Before the demon, there was Jak, and before Jak there was... oh, but I can't tell you I can describe world as it truly was. And how can I do that? It's so difficult!

My father told Jak that he wasn't a story, but I see now that in my haste to speak honestly to you, I've fallen into the same trap! I am not a story either, you see. I've tried to describe myself honestly to you- describing things that made me blush, or ashamed of myself. Trying to see myself from the outside... that was a challenge. And when I lived through those few weeks with my family, I didn't think to do it. The only way I can think to describe it is... is like swatting away a fly. You don't think about it- the fly bites you, or buzzes around you, and you wave it away, and then if it still buzzes around you swat it. You don't think about doing it. But sometimes, for no real reason, you look at the little crushed insect and suddenly realise that the tiny action, which meant nothing to you, was the most horrifying moment of that little creature's life. You look back at your action, and start thinking, should I have done something differently?

People are like that. We live each moment in a dreamy slowness, not really noticing the world around us, and then suddenly we look back at it and realise that the things we barely even saw passing us by were important, and... we missed them! Those few days were like that for me. We were so caught up in being a family, in being together, that we didn't notice how far we'd grown apart. But now, looking back... now, I can see the lines that were drawn between us.

Here are three people, seen from the outside:

There is a woman who has come home. She overflows with happiness when she is awake, and then sleeps like the dead. In the few quiet moments when she wakes up in the dark, though, her thoughts are troubled. Sometimes, when she looks at her husband and her daughter, she wonders what they think of her. She secretly believes that, in some ways, they must resent her. She spent the last fifteen years keeping the truth from both of them, and she was very, very good at it! She did it for a good reason, but sometimes the reason disappears, and so she worries. She knows her daughter well, and knows she is hiding something, just as she can see the lie in her husband's eyes. If she worried less she might confront them, but she hesitates.

There is a daughter, who has never had a home. She tries to feel comfortable staying in one place, but it still feels strange to her. She is perhaps a little jealous of both her parents, although neither of them neglects her. In fact, they spoil her. They introduce her to their friends and tell her stories late into the night. They buy her beautiful clothes and a rainbow of silk ribbons. The daughter knows that her parents think she has found her true home- and that this is the place where she belongs. The daughter does not think this is true. She thinks it's a silly idea. Her home had always been wherever her mother was, but now some of that childish dependence is gone. She feels like she is floating... how can she possibly put down roots?

There is a father. He is hiding something from both his wife and his daughter, although he knows that his wife suspects the truth. He has had enough of secrets. He is planning to tell his wife the truth. When he does, he fears his wife will turn his daughter against him. Like his wife, the husband wakes up and stares into the darkness. He is not tormented; his weariness is like a yawning hunger, and it keeps him awake. He will tell his wife the truth in the morning.

Let the world spin.

888

Mama stared at the circle on the floor. I half expected her to walk up to it, or to ask questions, but she studied the symbols that were scratched onto the tiles in silence. When she eventually spoke it was a question, but voiced so softly, so seriously, that I could barely hear it. She looked up at father, and instead of curiosity or relief, her tone held an accusation.

"How much of your Gift are you pouring into this?"

Father blinked, and then made a dismissive gesture. I knew the movement well; if I saw it, I knew to stop asking questions, or he would get annoyed and stalk away. Mama obviously recognised the gesture too, and smiled crookedly. She reached up to lay her palm across his cheek, tracing the lines around his eyes with her thumb.

"How much?" She asked again, her eyes direct and caring. Father caught her hand and kissed it, then answered so quietly I couldn't hear his words. Mama did, though; she took a deep breath as if his answer confirmed some dark suspicion.

"Is it a lot?" I asked, wondering what could be wrong. Ma nodded, looking at me to answer my question, but her answer was clearly meant for da.

"It's too much." Her voice was flat, and her eyes narrowed when Numair took a breath to answer her. "Don't you argue with me! You know it as well as I do. Were you planning to jump in the sea to have the strength to renew these seals each morning?"

"Yes." The answer made her blink, and he made a frustrated, meaningless gesture with his hands. "If I have to, then yes."

"If you have to?" She echoed, her voice sarcastically blunt. I caught myself chewing on my fingernail- a nervous habit- and forced myself to stop. I didn't have a clue what they were arguing about, or even why mama was so angry... and her next words made me gasp out loud. She said them in the heated, clear voice of rash people worldwide, but there was no doubt she meant it.

"I'm leaving."

"No...!" We both cried out together, and then spoke over each other in our haste to be heard. Mama rounded on me- I guess she was more practiced at arguing with her daughter than her husband. I flinched back at the raw fury in her voice.

"Don't you dare argue with me, Sa. You have no idea hag-hounded stupid he's being. I'm fair sure he didn't tell you that he's near killing himself just to keep that thing trapped in there! And what then, Numair?" She demanded, glaring at him fiercely. "When you work out how to kill it, but you can't even find the strength to tell anyone how to do it? What then? Or when you die, what then? Do you think it won't escape?"

"And you can stop it, can you?" Father's retort matched mother's anger, silencing her for a moment, "The rules are already broken, remember? What makes you think you can un-break them just by leaving?"

They were both so intent on their argument that they didn't notice me slipping away. I ran outside and sank down against the cold stone wall, jamming my fingers in my ears. It was no good- I could still hear the demon laughing at us. Poor, pathetic, fickle little mortals. I almost envied the creature; it must be nice to only have one thought in your head, even if that thought was scarlet hate.

"Aren't you cold?"

I looked up. Gregory had somehow managed to find a thick coat while he was sneaking out of class. It was too small for him, and his wrists stuck out of it like the ends of branches. I shrugged, barely feeling the cold. "They're fighting again."

"If I sat out in the wind whenever my parents had a fight, I'd die of exposure." He gibed, holding out a hand. I took it, reluctantly letting him pull me to my feet. "I guess they have fifteen years of arguments to catch up on."

"No- just one." I said glumly, trudging after my friend. He found an alcove that was better sheltered from the wind, and we sat down together on the grass. "They're arguing about the curse. Mama says she's going to leave us."

Gregory laughed, and then smothered the sound when I looked at him, tears still shining in my eyes. "I'm sorry, Sa," he said, "I just can't imagine it. I mean, have you seen them together?"

"My parents? I live with them." I reminded him, baffled at... well, whatever strange thought he was nurturing. Greg linked his hands behind his head and leaned back, flinching when his fingertips brushed against the icy stone.

"No, I mean... not seeing them as your parents, but as people." He stumbled over the end of his sentence, trying to rephrase whatever he was thinking of, then shrugged mentally and tried again. "They're always holding hands, touching each other- you know, arms linked when they walk... they're never away from each other. It's like..."

"Like they hardly believe the other person's really there?" I finished the thought for him, and then wrinkled my nose. "That's not odd though, is it? I mean, if you vanished for a decade and then reappeared, I'd called the priests and say, Help! I've seen a ghost!"

"I guess." He sat upright and blew on his fingers to warm them. "But we're not tied at the heartstrings. Whereas the gossips are saying that you couldn't cut your parents apart with a broadsword."

"Try arguments, they seem to work quite well." I muttered darkly, and then tried to change the subject. "So, what else are the gossips saying?"

Greg pulled a face at me, but he let me move the conversation away from my family. We chatted about the plans for the harvest festival instead, waiting until the sky was completely black before we wished each other good night. I couldn't help mulling over what my friend had said, even though I tried to distract myself with ideas for straw statues to burn in the festival fires.

Mama was already asleep when I got home, but father was still awake, staring at the fire as if it held some miraculous answers. For a moment he didn't hear me, and I watched him. I tried to see him as Greg did- as a person. He looked... tired. The odd brightness in his eyes may have simply been the reflected flames, but was I so used to his eyes looking dull? Mama had seen it straight away, even after fifteen years. The thought made me feel sick, guilty, stupid. Without thinking, I went and hugged him, wishing that all this weariness and worry could be coaxed away. He smiled a greeting and pushed a strand of my cold-frazzled hair away from my eyes.

"Your mother's staying." He said eventually. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll work this out, I promise."

For the first time, I was able to hear the doubt in my father's voice. Before it could make me shiver I went to build up the fire. The smoke stung tears from my eyes before the fear could drag them from me.


	22. Daine

I woke up because I was cold. It was such a... a _normal_ feeling that I found myself frowning, wondering why it had woken me up. It wasn't like I wasn't used to being cold. I'd slept in more ditches than a river rat. But then my sleep addled mind gently pointed out to me, that's not true now. No, now I was used to being warm again. Winter had started in earnest, hailing in with dark storms and solid weeks of howling snow, but the cold barely broke into my life. Even in the early hours of the morning, when the last embers only glowed dimly in the grate, I was used to being held closely in warm, safe arms. I must have been too deeply asleep to notice Numair getting up, but now I felt his absence as keenly as the cold. I shivered and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, wondering where on earth he'd gone. It wasn't even close to dawn yet; the bats still called to each other outside.

It didn't take long to find him; as soon as I opened the door to our room I could feel the heat from the main fireplace, and found him sitting beside the blaze. For a moment I thought he was asleep, but when he heard my soft footstep he looked around distractedly.

"Did I wake you?" He asked quietly, "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't." I hesitated, and then sat down beside him. Perhaps he just wanted to be alone. "Are you alright?"

Well, we both knew the answer to that one was no, even though we'd never talked about it in the months since our argument. But this time he didn't brush off the question. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket- a message- but instead of handing it to me as I expected he folded it absently between his fingers. "That moth brat has escaped. I don't want Sarralyn to know."

Moth? I blearily remembered that Jak was a shape shifter. He'd seemed dangerous enough to me even when he was just a hired knife, but then Numair had told me how he'd managed to break into the palace. Sarralyn hadn't said a single word about that night- unusual for her, she was usually happy to tell any story to anyone- and I hadn't pressed her.

"She's terrified of him," my husband said, his voice flat. "Not that I blame her; the boy seems to have compensated for his dire intellect with pure malice. I'd have sent him to the death cells by now, but the other girl's family wanted a chance to speak to him. Not that they'll get that chance now." He looked sidelong at me, and smiled grimly. "I notice you're deliberately not asking me how he escaped."

"I'm not asking why you lit the fire with a flint, either." I pointed out, and then saw the expression on his face. "How... how many people were hurt?"

"Hurt? None. He didn't attack people to _hurt_ them." His mouth twisted, and he threw the scrap of paper into the fire. "He killed four. Four people who died because I couldn't hold a hag-damned shielding spell for a few pathetic months."

"They died because he's a monster." I couldn't help interrupting him, and had to force myself to speak quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He didn't answer, but watched the paper curl up in the flames. I expected him to argue with me, or to rant and curse until he felt better. I wasn't used to this quiet, thoughtful anger. It didn't suit him at all, and I could see it eating away at him. But then I realised that this silence probably wasn't unusual for him. He wasn't used to having anyone around who he could talk to. I wondered how many times he'd shut himself away from the world behind those quiet eyes. I might as well have been invisible.

I took his hand, the action breaking him out of his staring competition with the flames. "Please talk to me."

He was silent for a long time, but when he did start speaking his voice was bitter. "I didn't even notice, Daine. He didn't have to fight me, or claw his way through the wall. He simply waited until it faded enough for him to just... walk through it. If he'd fought I'd have realised it was a weak spell and done something. But he didn't." He gestured at the fire, where the paper was nothing more than a few flecks of ash. "The first I heard about it was when they sent me that note. Four people died, and I didn't even notice. Maybe more, by now, but what can I do?" He laughed shortly, the sound startling the bats outside. "You're right; I can't even light a fire."

"Some sleep would help with that," I said, and then shrugged when he glared at me. "Sorry, what do you want me to say? That it's not your fault? It isn't, but knowing that doesn't seem to make you feel any better. Fine then, how about I say that things will be alright in the morning? I'd be lying. But sleep... sleep is good. Trying to solve problems at two in the morning never works well. Neither does feeling guilty for something that you can't help, or thinking what if this, or what if that..."

"I have to think about it." He interrupted me, but his voice was rueful. "Someone has to."

"Then let someone else, for once. I can..." I started, and then looked around sharply. There had been a sound... "Did you hear that?"

"Hear..." Numair began, and then stopped when we heard it again- a cry, frightened and sobbing, from Sarralyn's room. We both moved so quickly that we nearly tripped over each other. My thoughts were so loud, so terrified, that I wondered if I was thinking out loud. Oh gods, don't let it be him. Not here, not now, not Sarralyn, please gods, not that...

When we burst into her room, it took a moment for both of our eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was no invader in the room- the window was tightly bolted shut, as it had been every night since the cold rolled in. Sarralyn was huddled under her blanket, and she was crying. That was all I could take in before I breathed out, willing my frantically beating heart to slow down.

"Go away!" Sarralyn's voice was childishly shrill, muffled by the blanket. I sat down on the bed next to her while Numair left the room to fetch a candle. He ran a hand through his hair roughly as he walked, clearly just as unnerved as I was.

"Sarralyn, sweetheart, did you have a nightmare?" I asked, forcing my voice to be even. A pair of eyes appeared from the depths of the blanket, glaring at me.

"I'm not five, mama. I just... just..." she squeaked, her voice still shrill, when the candle lit up the room. "Don't look at me! Oh gods!" She ducked her head back under the cloth, but not quickly enough that I couldn't spot what was wrong. I fought back a sudden, manic urge to laugh, knowing full well why she was so scared. With gentle hands I teased the blanket away, making sure I didn't stare too obviously at the pointed bat ears that poked out of her messy hair. She reached up to hide them with her hands, and then groaned when she saw the darker, gnarled claws that should have been her own nails.

"Make it go away," she half sobbed, half squeaked. I reached out to stroke her hair. She flinched when my hand brushed one of the ears, and I took my hand away.

"How did this happen?"

She glared at me, an odd mixture of terror and irritation written on her face. When she answered me it was all in one breath. "I don't know! The bats were squeaking and I dreamed about them and then they started squeaking in words and then I woke up and I was like this and it won't go away!"

"When did your magic come back?" Numair asked. She looked up sharply.

"I don't have magic."

He laughed. I felt an odd pang of irritation. If I'd laughed, Sa would have sulked for days. But she actually lowered her hands away from her ears to listen to her da teasing her. "Is there something shameful about wild magic? You mother told me she didn't have it either... while she was healing birds and talking to wolves."

"Wolves?" Sarralyn looked at me with wide eyes. "Mama, you never said that..."

"Oh no, I'm not telling you a story now. It's late." I said, keeping my voice light even though I was really thinking about how little I wanted to talk about the wolves. "I thought you wanted to fix this?"

"You can make it go away?" Sarralyn touched the ears gingerly, not flinching this time when she felt the soft felting that covered them. I half shrugged and glanced at Numair, wondering if he'd rather teach her. He was studying the window, running his fingers along the frame to look for weaknesses in the structure as if Jak would chew his way through mouldy wood. I forced myself to look away, and not to start looking for other ways a moth could flutter in to the room.

"Well, the easiest way to make it go away is just to go back to sleep. You have to think yourself back to human, you see. But I bet right now half your mind is going, I'm a bat, I'm a bat, I'm a bat, which probably doesn't help any. You could meditate and clear your mind that way. So that's two ways you can fix it. Want to try?"

She nodded and shut her eyes, her lips moving as she concentrated on meditating. I studied the grim determination in her face, wondering how long it would take her to realise that she couldn't relax just by ordering her mind to be quiet.

After a few minutes Numair finished examining the window and walked back over to us, smiling at the intent expression that was still written on his daughter's face. "Go to bed," I said gently, standing up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "She's had nightmares before; I can deal with this."

"How do you think she got her magic back?" He started, and then yawned widely. I wrinkled my nose at him until he laughed and shook his head. "Yes, I know. I think too much, right? Goodnight, magelet." He kissed my forehead and left. I caught myself smiling after him and stopped, sitting back down on the bed. The movement shook Sarralyn from her meditation; she looked at her hands desperately and groaned.

"Mama, it didn't work."

Well no. I thought. How can you sleep when you're feeling frightened, and helpless, and confused? It's the most difficult thing in the world. Sarralyn is easy enough to help, but Numair won't even admit he's frightened. He'll just keep pretending everything's fine until the end.

If I had formed a plan- which Sarralyn would accuse me of later, as if planning was a crime- it would have been formed in those few moments. But I don't think that I'm that good at plotting. If I had any thoughts in my mind they weren't fixed; I might as well have made my mind up when I heard about Jak, or when the smell of fresh bread made me feel sick the day before. I don't think that I planned anything.

Still, something had to be done. I realised that when Sa cried out, when I suddenly realised I might still lose her. I couldn't just expect things to sort themselves out. We were all three of us as lost as we'd ever been. We couldn't just expect the answer to show itself to us in the nick of time, as if the world ran on the whim of some spinning sundial. It was an idea that felt like cold water; as if I was waking up after months of dreaming. Something had to be done.

Numair was dying. I knew it as clearly as if he'd told me himself. I could see the things he tried to hide from me- the way his hands shook when he turned the pages of a book, or the way he had taken to pressing his fingertips to his forehead, as if it ached. I had been scared of that happening when I first saw the barrier, but I thought... I hoped... that he was in control of the spell. I wouldn't let myself believe that it could destroy him.

But it wasn't that which made me feel ill. It wasn't the fact that the spell was beating him... it was the fact that he was letting it. He would rather let the spell drain all his life from his veins than let things go back to the way they had been before.

Were things really that terrible?

I would rather be alone. At least then I'd know he was safe.

Something has to be done.

I realised I was sitting in silence, staring into space, when Sarralyn put her hand on my shoulder. Her voice was still too shrill.

"Mama, are you well?"

I turned to smile at her. "I'm fine, just tired. I'm glad I have you on your own, for a change!" I leaned closer. "Can you keep a secret from your da, Sarralyn?"

She blinked and nodded, her bat ears all but forgotten in her curiosity. They wouldn't disappear just by being forgotten, though. You needed quite a shock for that to happen. It was lucky, then, that my secret was such a big one! I told her as simply as I could, "You're going to get a little baby sister, Sa."

She gasped, mouth hanging open as she took the news in. I smiled- partly because the bat shape had disappeared from her like flowing water, but mostly because it was wonderful to actually tell someone my secret. Sarralyn swallowed, and then noticed that her hands were normal again and laughed shortly.

"Was that a lie, ma?" She asked cynically. I shrugged and stood up.

"I suppose it could be. It's just as likely that you'll get a little brother. The third way that you can get rid of a shape is to be surprised, by the way. Sudden bursts of emotion, that kind of thing."

"Wai... wait!" Sarralyn sat up straighter when I moved to walk away. "Why.. why is it a secret? Aren't you telling father?"

"He... he gets protective." I said, wondering why the truth was so hard to explain. Why hadn't I told him? "I don't just mean that he stops me from doing things, but... it changes the way he thinks, too. And he needs to be able to think clearly right now. But...I will tell him. When I get back I'll..." I started, and then stopped, mentally cursing my tired mind for saying that out loud. Unfortunately my clever daughter could latch on to a few misspoken words faster than a limpet on to a piece of driftwood. She noticed my hesitation at the same time that I did, and opened her mouth to ask another question. Before she could, I wished her a good night and ducked out of the room.

 

Sarralyn

I waited for a long time in silence before I crept into the main room. The front door had clicked shut after mama had left, but there was always a chance that she'd have come back. Perhaps she was in the kitchens, or... or going to see a healer about the baby. There was always a chance. But something in my heart told me that was a lie. And as soon as I crept into the main room and saw the neatly folded note on the table, I knew that my suspicions were right.

It wasn't addressed to me. I frowned, wondering if I should read it. I didn't think father would approve of... well, whatever on earth mama was sneaking away at three in the morning to do... but I still hesitated before reading his letters. There were so many stories of people being turned into frogs, or having their mouths sewn shut by magic to stop them from repeating the secrets they'd read or overheard. Of course, in daylight the idea would make me scoff, but in the middle of the night when I'd just turned back from a bat-creature into a girl, I didn't think they were so far-fetched.

The cold made me shiver, and the movement was enough to make me flinch out and grab the note. I unfolded it greedily, but when I started reading it I slowed down.

Mama's handwriting was odd, strangely formed, as if she had read more words in her life than she had written. I guess that might be true; after she'd taught me to write using sticks in the dust I'd never seen her pick up so much as a stick of charcoal. The vowels were careful circles, the stalks drunkenly swaying between them, and the punctuation more of an act of hope than an aid for coherence.

Still, the words were undoubtedly her own. I had to look over my shoulder to check that she wasn't glaring at me for reading them.

_Numair,_

_I promised I wouldn't leave and I haven't left. I've gone to hunt him down. He'll be more than a mile away by now. Perhaps that will solve our problems. Watch the demon, and if you judge it safe then release it. If not, then at least we'll have one less threat to worry about and I'll come back home. Either way, Sarralyn knows my trail marks. She can find me and tell me what needs doing. I know you don't want to take the spell down but my love you have to. I know people say they'd rather die than give up but we both know how ugly death is and I'd rather never see you again than let you be an idiot._

_Please try to forgive me dear one. I'm not at all sorry._

_Daine_

Perhaps that's what she meant, then, about needing father to think clearly.

He wouldn't, though.

I knew that. Mama must have known that. Even without knowing what else mama was risking, father would be furious.

For a moment I thought about throwing the note in the fire. How could she do this to us? She didn't even think that she was leaving me, too. And she wasn't even sorry?

I felt my hand curling into a fist and forced it to stop before I accidentally crumpled up the note. I'm sorry to say that it wasn't common sense that stopped me from throwing it onto the coals. It was Kitten. I stared at the note for a long time, and then I stared at the fire for longer, and when I moved to throw the paper into the flames I couldn't move my hand. Tiny, sharp teeth and strong paws that didn't hurt at all held on to me, but when I glared at the dragon they tightened enough to clearly say they could, if I decided to do something really stupid.

"You can't tell me you forgive her." I hissed at the dragon, cruel in my anger. "She abandoned you first, remember? You're just going to let her do it again?"

Kitten's eyes never wavered from mine, although they narrowed. I couldn't read her expression at all.

"I can follow her. I can fetch her back. I can burn the note. He'd never know." I told her, almost babbling the words. She rolled her eyes and snatched the paper from my hand, moving so quickly i didn't think to stop her. Moving with grim determination, she put the paper back on the table where I had found it, and then stared at it for a moment. I thought she was considering breathing fire on it or something, but then she whistled a low, soft note. The creases in the paper smoothed themselves out until the note looked untouched, and with another, higher note, it folded itself neatly back into a square.

As if I'd never read it. As if I'd never found out what mama was doing.

Kitten looked back at me over her shoulder, and I realised I was shaking. Of course I couldn't follow Mama. I couldn't leave. I was needed here. If I left then it would make whatever mama was planning even more pointless. I sat down slowly, feeling myself slowly calm down. Kitten padded over to me and studied me evenly, then jumped up into my lap and made an enquiring sound.

"Da's sick." I said levelly. The note had proved that. "Mama's gone. And in the morning he'll find out. And we have to be here for that."

Kitten nodded. I sighed and sat back, trying to think. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but I must have done, because when I opened my eyes again it was morning, and the note was gone.


	23. Sarralyn

Let me set the scene for you. It's day time, although you can't tell by the light. There are no windows in the dungeons. The air is thick with putrid odours... here, when people bleed or soil themselves, it all drips and sours in the same drain without so much as a bucket full of water to wash it down with. Some of the people have not washed for years, and despite the thick walls the air is alive with insects. You can't hear the insects because the cries and curses echo in the stone corridors, just as you can't see the men and women behind their tattered rags and matted hair.

This is the kind of dungeon where you put people to forget about them. Do you have that in your mind? Good. I don't know how believable this part of my story will be, so I'd better be sure you can see it clearly. It was nothing like the cell where they kept my mother.

But then, they wanted her to heal. They don't care if these people live or die.

I don't let myself think about that. I don't let myself wonder how many of these people were left here by my father. I don't let myself think about what they did to be locked down here. I am play-acting; I am trying to look like a confident, powerful woman when I feel like a timid, scared girl. It worked on the guards, who let me by with barely a raised eyebrow. They saw the daughter of the king's justice, not a scared girl. I walked past them with my head held high and my lips almost shaping a prayer- don't tell my father that I came here! They let me past without a word, and point out the route I should take with rough gestures. The thoughts shiver even in my mind, so it surprises me how strong my voice is when I speak to the man in front of me. It amazes me that the words don't even tremble.

"I'm here to help you escape." I tell the man. He scoffs, his chains rattling as he makes an elaborate gesture. Some of his fingernails are broken, some are torn off. I try not to look away.

"I am here to die, girl." He says, his voice toothless and mushy but still enough to freeze my blood. I hear that same voice ordering my death every night, in my nightmares. His self-pity turns petulant: "Your father's lenience is... heh... is not what was promised."

"I'm not my father." I say, and this time my voice does tremble. Perhaps it will add truth to my story. At any rate it makes the man look up, eyes narrowing. He won't ask the question; I will tell him. I came here to tell a story, and that's what I'll do. How should I start it?

"I will help you escape, and... he'll never forgive me." I smile, knowing the words are true even if my nonchalant way of saying them is a lie. I smile, because I'm telling the truth. This is what will happen. "He will hate me. I won't be able to go back home. I will help you escape, tonight, and that will be the end of my life here as well as yours."

He breathes out rapidly, eyes darting from side to side as he tries to work out the trick. There isn't one. I'm telling the truth. I let it sink in, and then tell him my condition: "But I will only do it if you cast the death spell on me again."

Eventually he clears his throat, and his voice is harsh.

"Why?"

 

Once Upon A... No. Be honest. 

Four Hours Ago:

Father told me that mother went away looking into a clue for the spell, and that she asked him to take the cage spell down as an 'experiment'. I had to stop myself from scoffing at the lie. I'd thought he was a decent liar; he could have at least put some effort into it. Still, I wasn't supposed to know that it was a story. Perhaps if I wasn't so suspicious it would have sounded plausible... but I doubt it.

"But I can't take the spell down. The backlash would kill me... much more efficiently than if I just keep it up. Same reason that I can't let anyone else take it over. That... thing has raised too much power to suddenly hurl it at another person. So it stays." He poked the barrier with a long finger and scowled when the creature snapped its teeth bare millimetres from it. "I just have to solve this a little quicker. And if my friend here won't talk to me, I guess it'll have to be that priest." He stood up, wobbling slightly when he regained his feet, and started out along the corridor.

"Why are you even bothering? She's not coming back." I said, exasperated by this grim (if unsteady) determination. As soon as I said it I bit my lip, realising what I'd said, but it was too late. Father stopped and spun around, his eyes going from baffled to suspicious to angry in a single heartbeat.

"You read the note, didn't you?"

I didn't answer, but didn't look away. I wasn't ashamed of having done it. He didn't seem to notice if I was ashamed or not, he just shrugged and turned away. "I gather you read it incorrectly, then."

"She left us." I blurted out, and then had to stop myself from clapping a hand over my mouth. Father kept walking, speaking in a clipped monotone as if I was barely even there.

"You see, this is the problem. How is it that a person can live her whole life with someone and not know anything about them? Dear Shakith, she can read words on a page, but..." he stopped again and rounded on me, making me skid to a halt on the polished tiles. "But you just read, she's leaving, she's running away, she's abandoning me. All the bad things. All the things it's easy to think, because it's more comfortable to be angry at someone than try to understand them."

"I... I know my own mother," I said, stumbling over the words. He ran a hand through his hair irritably, not noticing the long strands dragged free from the tie when he shook his head.

"The first time you described her to me, Sarralyn, you called her a coward. That is the mother you know. I don't think our telling you a few stories is going to change what you believe, not really. I don't expect you to understand that, but... but this really has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" I retorted, my voice too loud in the corridor. "Do you think she just fell asleep for fifteen years, and woke up as the same person? Do you think that all the lying, and cheating, and stealing that we had to do to survive was just... a bad dream? Those things don't just vanish, you know! Fine, so your wife might not run away without some grand and arcane plot chasing her... but I'm damned sure my mother would!"

He paled, and I thought for a moment that my words had struck him- but when he tried to slouch nonchalantly against the wall I noticed that his legs shook under him. I bit my lip. "Father, you're not well."

He smiled humourlessly, not agreeing with me, but when he next spoke his words were bitter. "Would your villain of a mother, then, have thought to run off when she knew I was too weak to track her down... or is that the work of my loving wife?"

I felt cold suddenly, as if there was a draught in the hallway. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. Myself, maybe. I don't know." He rubbed between his eyes irritably, and stood up straighter, one thin hand lightly resting on the wall for support. "What do you want, Sarralyn?"

Want? I stopped short, taken aback. He noticed my hesitation and rolled his eyes, not looking at me when he spoke.

"You're a clever girl. I've never known you not to have a hundred ideas in your head, all shouting at once. And I've never known you to sit down and actually think about them for long enough to choose which one to do. Don't interrupt me. You decided to shout at me. You will stand there and listen to my reply, even if I have to witch your feet to the floor."

I stared at him, feeling like I'd drunk pure vinegar. My stomach reeled. It wasn't his words that hurt so much as the anger in his voice, and the way he wouldn't even look at me when he was scolding me, as if I wasn't worth acknowledging.

"You read that note, so you know exactly what to do if you want to help. I'm sure you also thought of a sea of other plans, but for once, just do what you're asked? You can't just run off and do your own thing all the time. Sooner or later you have to trust someone."

He looked up, then, but even when our eyes met it was as if he still couldn't see me. His gaze was clouded, as if he was dreaming awake, and his voice had grown quieter without him realising it. He leaned back against the wall and pressed the back of his hand against his head, as if it ached. "Even if you don't... don't understand all their reasons, or like how someone decides to do something, you still have to trust that they're doing the right thing, and that they'll do it well."

"Are we still talking about my mother, or your wife?" I demanded, tasting the acid in my throat when I spoke. I recognised it now; it was the same bitter bravado which had made me run away from mama all those months ago. It was the kind of anger which didn't care anymore how many things it broke to be heard.

If I sounded like a whining child I didn't care – I couldn't care; half of what I said made no sense, but it poured out in a flood anyway. How I've noticed things, I've heard you arguing, I listen to the gossip about you, You're completely deluded if you think that things are the same as they were when you were married; it's not like you can pretend the last decade didn't happen just because you still like kissing each other; there are so many things wrong with the way you act together, and everyone knows it, people talk... and he stood there, silently, looking at the ground without blinking. I didn't know if he was even listening to me, but I couldn't stop the words from being spoken. All the jealousies and insecurities and snide thoughts I'd had over the past few months were said in a few moments, and he didn't react at all. And then I said: And why do you trust her? She keeps secrets from you. I could tell you so many things...

"But you won't." He said flatly, looking up. "You're allowed to be angry; rant as much as you like. I'd rather you shout this nonsense at me than at your friends; they might actually believe it! But... Daine's secrets are her own. If she told you it's because she trusts you. She'll have her own reasons for keeping them from me. So telling me those secrets would make you look far, far worse than she does for keeping them."

I stopped, swallowed, demanded, "How can you say that? You're her husband! She's supposed to tell you everything!"

He looked almost amused for a moment. "You really do believe some odd things. Who told you that?" I didn't answer, but scowled at him. He leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Look." He said eventually, "I know there's a lot of... of things you don't like, or things you don't understand. That's fine, and we can sort them out, but not now. Right now, I'm asking you to trust us. Just let us deal with this. We know what we're doing, believe me!" He smiled gently, and I suddenly realised that he didn't even sound angry any more. The thought made me blush, mortified at what I'd said. I don't think I'd have been so calm if someone had ranted at me. I stared at the floor, wondering if it could actually swallow me up.

Perhaps father took my silence for some kind of apology, because that was the end of our argument. He ruffled my hair and told me to cheer up, his voice completely normal. By the time I could bear to look up, he'd gone.

And that was when the thought occurred to me, both bitter and exhilarating. I am absolutely useless.

So here's the answer to all our problems. Three words.

I

Am

Useless

(I told you I liked counting. Three words, four syllables, ten letters... five consonants and five vowels.)

That's the answer. Understand now? Are you happy? Does that make you flick back through the pages of my story and say, "Ah, yes, that explains everything!"?

No?

No. I admit... me neither.

It made no sense to me either, at first. I'd known it all along, of course, but I hadn't realised what it meant. I didn't think about it when I was trying to find work, and found that all I could do was tell stories. I didn't think about it when Jak described me as disappointing, and I surely didn't think about it when Greg asked me what I was going to do with my free time. What can I do with my time?

This is me. Hello! I'm Sarralyn. I can tell stories. I can't turn into a bat or a moth, and compared to my mother I can barely aim a longbow. I can't use magic like my father, and I'm definitely not as clever as he is. He didn't mean to point that out, I'm sure, but there it is. I'm not an idiot, I just don't think the same way as other people. I think in stories. And I'm useless. A normal, ordinary, useless girl.

Do you remember what Numair said, when he stopped Jak from killing me? It seems like a long time ago, but the words stayed in my mind because, to me, they were a lie. He said, over and over again, I am not a story. He wanted Jak to think about what he was doing to real people, I think. But to me, my father was a story... and still is. He is more the black mage from my mother's stories than the quiet, thoughtful person who brought me to Corus. What I don't think he realised is that... he believes it, too.

Oh, I don't mean that he honestly thinks he should be sung about, or that he could send dragons away screaming in fear with one fire-bolt. No-one can do that. No, what I mean is... he's used to things being complicated, and dramatic. He genuinely wouldn't be able to believe that his whole life could be turned upside down by something simple, so he wouldn't think to look for a simple solution. He even said something similar to me, when I asked him what he was researching about the spell.

It's an old book, he'd told me, turning the dusty pages fretfully. People don't use these spells any more. They're too complicated. But Daine wouldn't be caught out by something simple. It has to be in here.

And mother... mother is almost the opposite of that. If there is a simple solution she will take it, because it's the most direct way to do anything. She ran away because that is what she had to do. She never thought to test the spell, or try to outsmart it, because following the rules was a more certain way to keep us safe. She left this morning because it would save father's life.

No, I'm not saying that she's simple. I'm just saying that she has no patience with uncertainty. I remember when she used to tell me stories, and she would get annoyed if I got a single detail wrong. Of course, she was also teaching me about her life and our past... but even when she told the whimsical fairy stories she learned in Galla, she had the same obstinacy. With stories, there was never any doubt in her mind that her version was incorrect. Now, in real life, there is no doubt in her mind that she can do whatever she sets out to do.

And me? Well, I'm neither. I can't outsmart a complicated problem, and I don't think I have a strong enough will to throw myself at a simple solution, like ma would.

..."What does this have to do about anything?" Sefan looks bored, but it's probably a display. Apart from being questioned, this is the first visit he's had. I realise I'm smiling. The same rush of understanding floods through me this time, retelling my idea, as it did when I first thought of it.

"Don't you see?" I don't wait for him to answer. "I'm useless! I can't do anything except tell stories, and what good is that in this world? I can't use magic, or hunt people down, or out think people..."

"I'm not arguing with that." I scowl at the interruption, but the man looks pleased with his snide comment. His smile fades with my next sentence.

"But that means that the creature is like that, too!" I stop and lean forward, my eyes sparkling. "It's so obvious! It's linked to me, and it is me, all the annoying things and all the mood swings and all the emotions are all mine as well as the creatures, and... and the other way around. They can't kill it because it's not even alive. It's just... just a part of me that's been taken away. They're wrong because they're treating it like a... a story. As if they can solve it. Riddles just don't happen in real life. At least, not like that. But I'm so used to seeing the world like a story that I didn't realise!"

The man looks lost. "The world's a story?"

"Oh, you know." I wave a hand idly, my thoughts running ahead of me so quickly I couldn't stop the words from pouring out. "What we think, and feel, and how we see things. There's no way to look at someone and not think of how to describe them- that is a man, that is a woman, a child, a demon. We can't look at people and not wonder what drives them or motivates them, can we? I've never looked at anything and not wondered what it might be worth to someone, or what they would do with it. We can't even judge what people are like without making them into a story. You see... you see..." I press my palm to my head, the warmth in it slowing my thoughts down. "You see, in this story... my story... you're the Bad Guy. You couldn't suddenly become good if you tried, because you're already done bad things. How long ago was it when you last saw your family?"

He blinks, looking uneasy at the unexpected question. "Fifteen years."

"When you cast the spell?" I wait for him to nod, and then carry on, "From your point of view, then, it was my mother's stubbornness which stopped you from going home. It stopped you from being with people who care about you, too. It was supposed to last a few months, perhaps, and that was it. And yet I'd be justified in letting my father kill you- and stay as the good guy- because I don't know any of your motivations, and I've not seen what you do with your life in between the running away and the trying to kill me."

"Are you saying I'm a good guy?" He asks, totally bewildered. I shake my head impatiently.

"I just... I don't think that you know any more about this spell than we do. There's no point in trying to solve it, is there? We can't out think it, because there's no answer. You don't know how to break it, or you'd have said so by now. You don't want to die any more than I do. So asking you to get rid of it is useless. But you do know how to cast it, because you've done it before. You cast it, and tell it the rules, right?"

He hesitated, and nodded, fingers twitching idly. I leaned forward. If he reached up now, he'd be able to grab me- but I didn't care.

"So, you'll cast it again, and tell it new rules, and make sure that the old rules aren't in there. Tell it I can die if I'm stabbed through the heart by a potato, or something. And that'll be the end of it."

"It will still be here." He said, his voice somewhere between warning and hopeful. "It won't go away. It will need to be fed."

I shrugged. I knew that. It would still be a voice in my head. "Do it anyway. Make me the only person it's linked to. I can live with it if we don't have to die by it."

He thought for a moment, and I realised then that he still had a choice. It's strange... it never occurred to me that he might say no! In my head, he would do anything to escape... I know I would have... but looking at this old man in chains, who had spent his life running away from my mother, I realised that he might not want to.

"Please," I said quietly, "Do you really hate me enough to die for it?"

He blinked and looked up at me, his eyes strangely bright. "I don't hate you. I don't even know you." He rubbed his hands together slowly and sighed. I realised I was holding my breath when he looked down.

"Alright," he said. "I'll do it."


	24. Drifting...

How weary are you? Are you tired? When you are exhausted the world... changes. At first it's insubstantial. Subtle. Small things. The light seems brighter; it's harder to see, and the shadows are darker. Shadows are softer. They call to you, promising oblivion. Nothingness. Sleep. So you sleep, and you wake up, and you're still tired. The light hurts your eyes, and every noise is louder.

But this is nothing. You learn to live with it. And you notice that, perhaps, things seem to be too fast for you to follow, or they fade into irrelevance. The world moves at a different speed. You can almost feel it spinning under your feet, dragging you down. Your feet are like lead; you feel heavy, but you know it's nothing to do with you. You're just tired. The world demands more from you but you can't let it take too much from you, because you need it to shade your eyes from the light, and to peer into the shadows, and of course... of course, you need it to think.

Because by then it's difficult to string words together. You think of words as things, not as words. They don't seem to work quite the same way. You argue more. It takes you longer to think. You repeat yourself. You question yourself.

I read once that someone tested themselves. Without sleep, a man will go mad in three weeks. No-one was stupid enough to test this. There is no book which says: Without his gift, a man will...

Well, I do not think that I'm going mad. I know that I'm dying. Perhaps it will be like falling asleep. Sometimes the prospect is wonderful. Surely, if I sleep into death, then I will no longer feel heavy, and slow, and definitely not tired.

Sarralyn is angry. I would understand why, if I could think. Yes, and I would also understand why Daine left. These things must have answers. Answers beyond the simple half-truths I parrot back to my daughter, to myself.

This mood will pass. I will blink, and suddenly feel a rush of wakefulness, and be able to think clearly for a few precious hours, and then I will think about important things. I have taken to sleeping in the room with the demon, knowing that when I am awake every second near it will count. It's important to make an effort, even if I don't wholly believe that I can solve this. Those seconds are getting fewer and fewer. I drift fitfully in and out of a worthless sleep.

In my wandering half-dreams, my mind reels. It forms words that yearn to reach out, to be heard. My hands shake too much to hold a pen anymore, so I cannot write them down. I would pray, but I have not trusted the gods since they tore my life from me without so much as a passing word.

Daine, I know you're not coming back. I know it, as surely as I know that I've failed. I don't want you to come back, sweetling. I don't want to make you watch me die. I read your note with such a violent surge of emotion that it scared me – not anger, my darling, or even regret. You asked for my forgiveness, but there was no need. I read your words and all I could feel was relief.

Perhaps you did not expect that. I'm sure if you'd spoken to me about it I would have argued, or fought with you. Like a child, I cling to the things that I love so tightly that they break. I do not want to destroy you, beautiful one. In my delirium I remember... oh, so many things. I remember that you used to tease me for being over-protective, but with real anger in your eyes. What are you scared of? Don't you know that I can protect myself?

Perhaps I should have been crueler. I could have forced you to stay in the divine realms, with your parents. Even then I knew how much I loved you, so much that it scared me. I was not trying to protect you from immortals, or the war, sweetheart. You knew how they could hurt you. But this illusion... how could I explain it to you? Your father knew; perhaps I saw a hint of it when he looked at Sarra, or perhaps I imagined it: the kind of love that would let a woman burn, to allow a man to hold on to her forever.

I said that I wished you had moved on, and found someone else. I would have hated every breath the man breathed. But then I wouldn't know how much I had hurt you. Fifteen years of stubborn exile under the guise of love is a more excruciating torture than anything I could devise for the criminals in my cells.

Even if it did not destroy you, it certainly broke me. You hurt me so innocently, little one, that it feels like a gift. Daine, perhaps I do not even love you anymore. Your daughter says that I don't know who you are. I loved who you were, she says, and nothing more.

Perhaps that is why you left. Who do you love, Magelet? Am I still who I was?

I do not want to find out. I would rather drift with these tortured thoughts, my madness, my weariness, in all its confusion and obsession.

The cogent moments are less now. I tried as many spells as I could before weariness crashed into my mind again. I can feel it now, a physical pain – not just my head hurting, but every nerve crying out for want of the blaze of gift that once sustained them. My hands and feet are numb, cold, however close to the fire I sit.

Daine, beloved, it hurts. I will tell you here. I will never tell you out loud. I have not spoken for days now. I do not think I can speak at all anymore.

The mood will pass. My thoughts drift again into memories, and for a time there are no words as I dream. Even my dreams are tired now- splashes of colours and sounds and movement, as if a painter has danced across my mind and left a trail of bright oils in his wake. There are no shapes, no forms, until a girl drifts across the picture and stands, hesitant, before kneeling down next to me.

Perhaps my eyes are open. I cannot tell. The girl kisses my cheek, but in my numbness I cannot feel the warm brush of her lips against my skin. She winces at the coldness of my skin and rests her palm on my cheek, as if the warmth from it could bleed into my flesh. Her words echo strangely.

Papa, she says, her voice soft, Oh father, I'm so sorry.

I can't speak to ask her why she's sorry. The earth pulls me down, and I am too heavy to move. Is this creature my daughter? She shifts between human and sprite in my eyes, unearthly and human. There is strange humour in my thought- yes, Daine, if you had a child it would be one of these oddities. I am truly going mad. Perhaps the next cat who pads into the room will declare itself my son.

The sprite walks over to the column of light, and for a moment a surge of adrenelyn wakes me up. For a moment, I know that this is real. This is truly happening. The sprite's name springs to my lips, but when I try to speak I cannot move my lips to form the word. As if speaking a name would stop it...! But it hears the strange noise I manage to form, and looks back at me.

I'm sorry. It says again, and this time there is more strength in its voice.

It steps through the solid light as if it were nothing, as if it was made of water. It hesitates, as if it expected it to burn or chill the flesh from its arms, but then it passed through as if there was no barrier there. I wondered why it had bothered. In a few hours the barrier will fall anyway, when I die. I would tell it so, but I would have to break through the barrier to speak to it. No mortal can break through the barrier. You would have to be completely immune to the gift to be able to do that.

The dark shadow within the barrier keened, the sound so shrill that it broke through my dreams again. Enough for me to think – yes, of course Sarralyn would be able to walk through the barrier. She did it before, with the snakes. She doesn't flinch from the creature, but kneels down and holds out her arms to it.

I shut my eyes. Let this be a dream. Let this be anything but what it is. When I open them again, Sarralyn is somehow standing next to me, healthy and whole and unharmed. Something is curled up in her arms, cuddling close to her like a child or a kitten.

I'm sorry, she says for the third time, and this time there is fear in the words. This part will hurt you. Goodbye, father.

I struggle to move- to open my mouth- to ask her why she is saying goodbye. I don't think about anything hurting until she kneels down next to the empty column of light and holds her hand up until the light pierces her palm.

This time, her hands are not empty. A glowing orb of someone else's gift glitters in her hand. It pulses for a moment, and the barrier hesitates...

I didn't see the barrier fall. I couldn't describe it to you. I could only feel the sickening flood of power that slammed back into me from the barrier, burning my frozen limbs into pure ecstasies of bitter pain.


	25. Sarralyn

I scatter grass seeds on the trail.

I do it perversely; I do not want to be found, but why not scatter seeds? At the end of the day, the grass will grow whether I help it or not.

Usually I don't even think about it. But today, watching the seeds drifting slowly from my fingertips and settling on the ground, I realise that the wind that bears them also carries a memory. I look around, smelling the sharpness of leaf-mould and the softness of past-rain in the air, and think back to the day that my new life started. I suppose it must be two years ago now that I ran away from mama, and another year at least since I arrived here. At first I was as frightened of being discovered as mama must have been for all those years. But now, with the gentle scent of autumn calling to my thoughts, I wonder if I truly mind any more.

Gregory told me about this place. I could not have planned everything on my own. Even now, I wonder that my childish plans worked. There are so many things that could have gone wrong. Both of my parents would have stopped me, if they could, and it was only coincidence that gave me any power at all. I still get cold chills when I think about the last night I spent in the palace. A girl alone- even the daughter of the king's justice- could not have taken a criminal from the dungeons. But with the help of a trainee knight, and a guilt-ridden soldier, she might make an entourage that looks just official enough to fool the guards. A spell is no less effective for being cast in haste.

I asked Sefan not to tell me the new rules. I do not want to know how I am going to die. I refuse to spend my whole life trying to run away from my death. The priest nodded, and smiled – almost a genuine smile, and the last gesture between us before he faded away into the trees. I have not heard that he has been caught. Now that he does not have to watch my shadow, he can go home. I know nothing about him, or his life, and in turn I told him nothing of my own plans. We will remain strangers.

The land that feeds and hides me is on Gregory's land, but I do not see my friend, either. I live alone, and I have done for many months now. It suits me. I do not have to try to think my way around other people's stories and whims. And there are many things that I need to find out about myself. Of course, I talk to the shadow as much as it speaks to me. I barely realised that I was alone until the wind brought that memory back to me, and I realised that I wasn't just alone... I was lonely.

Sadness? The shadow speaks in emotions, not words, but I can understand it. The emotion has a question behind it. It is odd that every feeling I have in my heart is clear to it, but it cannot read the words in my mind.

I miss my family. I tell it, finding the special place in my mind where I can speak to it. It was hard to do, at first, but now I don't even have to meditate to reach that stillness. The demon doesn't answer me, but for a moment I feel the shared warmth of its own emotions as it tries to comfort me. I smile and pick it up, knowing how hard it has to concentrate to make such a gesture. It was so used to hating that it had forgotten how to love. It has taken a year for it to grow warm in my arms, but now it cuddles closer to me, shaping its dark hide into the softness of fur.

I could shapeshift too, now, if I wanted to. Sometimes the creature is bad-tempered, or weary, and does not let me. But often it will sit on my shoulder, or crawl like a mouse into my pocket, and with it that close to me I can use my magic. When I shapeshift it mimics me, truly my shadow as we hunt together as falcons, or run through the woods together as wolves. Even when I feed it my blood it does not feel so strange. I believe that the shadow is a part of me, torn away from me as a baby, made bitter and cruel by the rules it was forced to follow and my mother's terror of it.

I could be wrong, of course. Like so many things, there's no way to get the true answer. But I am content with that explanation, and the shadow never argued against it.

We round a corner, grass-seeds scattered, and see our home. It is always a welcome sight; a small house made from slate and rocks. It's not much more than a room with a fireplace, made by some farmer for when lambing season would keep him in these remote hills. Gregory said that he used to hide here when he was a child, after he had stumbled across it quite by accident. No-one else knew it was here. Perhaps some people do now, though. I'm sure they talk about me, even in a market as tiny as the one I visit. I sell dried meat and herbs – things I can forage for in the mountains. They have me labelled as a recluse, or an eccentric, but they do not bother me. They do not know my real name, after all, and I can shapeshift my face enough to make it look quite wrinkled and old.

The house always looks welcoming when we return, with the slow coil of smoke from the stove and the inviting smell of drying meat greeting us. I banked the fire before I left, but I'm quite surprised to see it still burning. We've been gone most of the day, hunting for truffles, and the scars on my hands are stiff and ache from digging through the cold soil. I'm glad to see the smoke and I start walking faster, eager to be warm again.

The shadow shifts abruptly in my arms and jumps to the ground. Before I can ask it what's wrong, it snaps into the shape of a large wolf and runs into the house, snarling. My blood runs cold when I see what angered it: the door is open, and the light from the fire which streams out is too bright to be banked. Someone is in our home. I draw my dagger without a moment's thought and run after the demon, feeling its anger in my own mind.

I see the shape standing by the fire at the same time that the shadow leaps for it.

"No!" I cry. The shadow snarls as I order it back to me. I have summoned it too violently; it hurts both of us when the link between us snaps closed. The wolf turns on me and knocks me to the ground, not understanding, wanting to strike out and protect me and hating me for stopping it. I wrap my arms around it even as I see the stranger calling a handful of magic.

"Don't, father!" I gasp, trying to calm down the shadow and Numair even though my own heart races. The shadow writhes in my grip and claws at me, but I keep my grip on its pelt and force myself to be still. When it is calmer I stroke its face, soothing it, letting it feel all the love I have for it, and thinking, Safe, Safe, Safe over and over again, until it relaxes and I can let it go. I keep a hand on its head, reassuring it, and don't look up when I speak.

"You scared us. You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." His voice sounds clipped; I guess the shadow scared him. I look up sharply.

"This is my home. I have every right to be here."

"Well, we'll leave that argument aside for now." He smiles shakily and scratches his nose. "I didn't come here to fight with you. Or... that." He looks distastefully at the shadow, which snaps at him. I sigh and speak to the creature silently. It whines in irritation, but obeys me and shrinks down into a mouse shape. I tuck it into my pocket, ignoring it when it petulantly plants its claws into my hip. Father watches the exchange in silence, a small line appearing between his eyes when he sees the shadow, but he doesn't say anything. Perhaps he expects me to speak first, but I won't. The silence stretches between us awkwardly until I just have to break it, or I'll go mad.

"How did you find me?" I blurt out, rounding on my father. He grins, and I find myself smiling back. Some of the tension in the air fades away.

"I've had lots of practice." He says, his voice flippant as he makes a dismissive gesture. "Besides, I've known where you are for a few months now."

I blink at him, not believing. "Liar. You'd've come right away."

"Well, I was tempted," He admits, and leans against the fireplace. "But by all reports you were healthy, and happy, and... well, you know your own mind. There was nothing stopping you, so if you wanted to come home, you would have. I thought it best to give you some breathing space."

"Nothing stopping me?" I can hardly believe my ears! "I helped a criminal escape from jail! I... I tricked you, and mama, and the guards and... and everybody! You would have been furious! You... you've ignored me for over a year- I know it took you that long to calm down, and you're probably still angry with me! Why else would you let me stay away so long?"

He frowns and kneels down to build up the fire."It seems we're at cross-purposes here, Sarralyn. I've been ill. I swear it's no reflection on either your actions or my feelings for you that I didn't hike up however-many mountain trails to speak to you before this. By the time I woke up from you undoing the barrier, you'd already been gone four months."

I blink. I hadn't imagined he'd been that hurt. "You slept for four months?"

"Well, perhaps sleep is the wrong word for it." He smiles slightly, looking almost embarrassed. "I'm told that at one point my skin started glowing, like a candle flame. The academy mages wanted to study me, since no-one's ever given up that much magic and lived before, but unfortunately Daine chased them away. She told the priestesses that the goddess had ordered her to care for me, which is why she left the temple."

"She came back?" I grin despite myself and unwrap my scarf from around my neck. Numair nods, hesitates, and then explaines the reason why she'd left in the first place: to hunt down Jak. He starts by telling me that she'd found him and... well, he sketches over exactly what she did to the murdering cockroach... but that doesn't stop my blood from running cold.

We still don't talk about the spell, not really. I suppose he wants me to tell him what I did, but I keep my silence. I still don't trust him not to try to destroy my shadow. I ask him what had happened when he woke up, instead. He raises an eyebrow, but answers me.

"Well, after your mother cared for me through that, I had to look after her. So you see, it was a long time before either of us could even think about looking for you, past asking our friends to keep an eye on you. If you'd needed our help, of course, it would have been different."

I think about that for a moment, but can't get my mind to focus. He doesn't seem to be blaming me yet. Another thought leaps forward to terrify me. Mama needed caring for... and she isn't here? The shadow shifts uneasily in my pocket, feeling my fear, and asks if I need defending again. Refusing it gives me a vital few seconds to think.

"Is mama sick?" I ask, my voice cracking. Father smiled and took my hand. The gesture makes me blink; no-one has really touched me in a year, and the gesture feels less reassuring than... strange.

"She's fine, sweetheart. That's why I'm here. You have two little sisters, you see. We want you to meet them."

I gape at him. I'd wondered about mama, of course, but I never imagined… "Twins?"

He nods, halfway between happiness and mocking disbelief. "Yes- and shapeshifters, both! It seems your mother got her magic returned to her at a rather inopportune time, and she didn't have an easy time of it. Consequently I am somewhat in disgrace, and was not allowed to come and fetch you until they were both sleeping through the night."

I laugh despite myself and gesture to the fire. "Father, I don't have any chairs, but if you'd like to sit by the fire I can make some food for us."

The shadow flinches and jabs sharpened claws into my skin. It doesn't want Numair anywhere near it. I ignore it, and if father noticed my sudden wince he doesn't comment on it. He accepts my invitation easily, and before I've even started the water boiling he's helping bring in more firewood and stacking it by the range.

I concentrate on preparing food. I found this rabbit in one of my traps on the way back. Although I could hunt them easily, I can't help crying when I hear the creatures begging me to stop following them, or crying when I accidentally don't make a clean kill. The shadow streams ahead, snapping maliciously at them, and it's hard to aim true when they're running around in such a blind panic. At least with the traps they die quietly, although in truth I've been eating meat less and less.

No matter. Father can have the rabbit; I have some horse-chestnuts I can cook. I'm so intent on scattering the nuts on the hot hearth stones to split their skins in the heat that I don't notice that father has finished his task. I only realise he's there when he suddenly grabs my wrist, the action almost violent.

"This- did that creature do this?" He demands, black eyes glaring at me as if I'm at fault. I frantically wonder what he's talking about, and then look down at my hand. The light from the fire licks over the scars, making them look twisted and ugly in the warm light. I automatically try to pull my hand away – a reaction from the market, where people's eyes widen at the jagged marks- but father holds my wrist stubbornly, demanding an answer.

Fine. If he wants to know that badly I'll damn well tell him. "You told me that the backlash from the barrier would kill you." I say. I refuse to sound cowed by his anger; my voice sounds too harsh. "So I took it into myself, instead."

He flinches and drops my hand so quickly I can feel the blood rushing back into my fingertips. He struggles for something to say for a moment, but when he does actually speak the word confuses me. "Why?"

"Why?" I parrot the word back at him. "You're alive, aren't you?"

"But… you…" he doesn't finish his sentence, but his eyes describe his thoughts clearly- they flick to the walls of my tiny home, to my hand, to the shape the shadow makes in my pocket, and back to me. He sees only the bad things. I could explain to him… how much I love my little house, even when icicles grow inside the windows; how the shadow sometimes sings to me when I can't sleep at night. I don't think he'd listen. He sees everything in my life as ugly, as warped and scarred as the palms of my hands.

The only life he would accept for me, I think, is the one he could give me. Anything other than that will always look bad to him, scarred by the same events which broke my flesh. And I think that, and I feel the familiar bile rising in my throat. I won't yell at him. I'll dismiss him from my home in two brief words: Go away, and he'll have to leave. It's my home; I have authority here. I have proven I'm not a child. If I ask… order… him to leave, then he will.

And that would be the end of our story.

Because... lurking beneath our conversation is a tense undercurrent; a last chance for both of us. Stay, or come home. Be sensible, or foolish. Rich, or poor. Lonely, or with your family. Stay a child, or grow up. He looks at me and sees a poor, foolish, lonely child. In two words, I could show him that I'm an independent adult, as stubborn as he is. The shadow agrees with me, and I can feel its emotion whispering in my mind. We don't want to be owned or controlled, whether it's by a spell or by a parent. We've had enough of that. Yes, the shadow hisses at me, yes. Send him away.

And strangely…

…for the first time…

…a moment of calm, like the sun shining through rainclouds. A cliché image, true, but fitting. Like the glacial current flowing down the middle of a sun-warmed stream, a single calm thought drifted through the bile, and I listened.

I've been running away all my life. It's an instinct, trained into me by my mother, provoked by the shade of a vengeful father, and second nature to my shadow-self. A story will always end by the hero leaving something behind. At the end of the day they will die, or lose the war, or be tricked from their dreams, or go on a journey. My tales are nothing more than a horde of fantastical characters fleeing from their lives. That's how all stories end.

But this story has never been about the end of my life. This story is all about how it began.

Two words…

"Sit down," I say.

And I smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three apples fell from the Divine Realms.   
> One for the teller of this story  
> One for those whose story we told  
> And one for you, for listening. 
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
